


The Dragon of Greywater

by King_Maegor



Category: A Song of Ice and Fire & Related Fandoms, A Song of Ice and Fire - George R. R. Martin, Game of Thrones (TV)
Genre: Anal Sex, Blood Drinking, Canon Divergence, Dom/sub, Dragonlord Jon Snow, Dragons, Dubiously Consensual Blow Jobs, Extremely Dubious Consent, F/M, Harems, Jon Snow is a Targaryen, King Jon Snow, Multi, Oral Sex, Rape/Non-con Elements, Rare Pairings, Sexual Roleplay, Shameless Smut, Threesome - F/F/M, Vampires, War, Warg Jon Snow
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2019-05-27
Updated: 2019-08-29
Packaged: 2020-03-20 06:02:09
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence, Major Character Death, Rape/Non-Con, Underage
Chapters: 5
Words: 27,508
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/18986722
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/King_Maegor/pseuds/King_Maegor
Summary: Raised in Greywater Watch, away from the inquisitive eyes that would take one look at his silver hair and mismatched eyes and begin to question the muddied story of his parentage, Jon Snow now enters the game of thrones. As a dragon.





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

> just having some fun.

**Cersei Lannister**

King’s Landing was a city threatening to tear itself apart. She could feel the tension brewing in the city streets even from her balcony in Maegor’s Holdfast. The violence of the riot the day her monster of a brother meant to send Myrcella to Dorne was still fresh in Cersei’s mind even though it had been over a year ago. The tide of unwashed, ungrateful savages had forced them back to the Red Keep before they could reach the ships meant to cart her daughter away. Cersei had taken it as a sign from the gods that Myrcella was meant to stay with her mother. _A not so small victory._ Somehow these past few weeks were worse. Far worse.

It was due to fear. Word of the Northern army marching south had long reached the city due to the flood of refugees. That is until the burned soldiers began to return baring news and evidence of a dragon seemingly under control of the Northmen.

“Aegon the Conqueror has been resurrected and means to cast down the false king born by incest!” A madman had preached in the streets until the Gold Cloaks came down upon him. The more interesting of the rumors, Cersei decided, was the return of Rhaegar.

“Rhaegar Targaryen lives on! The last dragon faked his death to journey to the cursed lands of Old Valyria. He has claimed a dragon of old and now means to reclaim his throne! Rejoice the Last Dragon lives!” That town crier at least still lived, though however poorly in the black cells. Still, his words had spread like wildfire. Rhaegar’s miraculous survival was more believable than a king who died hundreds of years ago.

 _Rhaegar._ Cersei thought with a mix of fear and desire. She wondered how the years would have treated a man that beautiful. Robert had been handsome once and yet he grew to be a fat lazy before a boar put him out of his misery. Rhaegar had taken a hammer to his chest, the rubies inlaid in his breastplate scattering to the wind. Her father and Mace Tyrell insisted that Rhaegar’s body had been burned in accordance to the traditions of the Targaryens by the loyalist who found it, but neither were there.

 _If father had married me to Prince Rhaegar instead of that oaf, he sold me to then none of this would have happened._ She would have children with silver-gold hair and big beautiful purple eyes. _No Rhaegar’s eyes had been indigo._ Cersei remembered them as if she were still a girl frozen with awe. Melancholic and beautiful, in equal measure.

“The wrong man returned from the Trident and now we are meant to pay for it,” Cersei said to herself. Her voice was full of scorn.

“My lady,” Senelle’s voice interrupted her thoughts.

“What is it?” Cersei asked the girl without turning.

“You wanted me to inform you when the small council was meeting. The Lord Hand and Lord Tyrell are already in the Small Council’s Chambers.” Cersei released a snarl.

“And now you tell me?” She would have slapped the girl if she were not pressed for time. “Where is my son?” She asked Boros Blount when she emerged from the room.

The knight fumbled with his words for a moment before squeaking out an answer. “With his grandfather and the small council.” Cersei would have slapped him too. Him knowing the whereabouts of Joffrey meant that he had a hand in keeping her away from the meeting.

She was a hot ball of fury as she stalked across the yard. The Red Keep was full of scared highborn sheep who had traveled from all corners to see her son wed the Tyrell girl. Their wedding had yet to happen but any cheer at the impending celebrations were replaced by uncertainty and fear. Her ire must have been plain for none stopped her advance.

Well… Meryn Trant and Arys Oakheart certainly tried. “My lady you must not interrupt.”

She did slap Meryn Trant when he laid a hand on her shoulder. “You forget yourself, knight. I am your queen.” Her glare at Ser Arys prompted him to hold open the door the Council Chamber for her.

If she were a lesser woman she would have raged in frustration at the sight before her eyes. Her father sat at one end of the table, Joffrey at the other. Mace Tyrell was present at her father’s side, pale with beads of sweat running from his brow. Margaery stood next to her plump father, worrying her lip between her teeth. Pycelle was there, looking more useless than normal as was Varys the Spider. She could smell his perfume from where she stood. Most frustrating was the sight of her dwarf brother and his wife.

Her father’s pale green eyes flickered over to her. “Cersei.” All of her anger left her. Her father looked troubled. Calm and confident Tywin Lannister, the Great Lion looked out of his element.

“Father I am sorry I am late.” She took a seat beside her son. Joffrey’s face was almost green. _What have I missed?_ Cersei wondered.

“Go on Sansa. Tell us what you know about your brother. This Jon Snow.” Tyrion said gently. Cersei did not fail to notice how the child flinched away from the dwarf’s hand.

Sansa was nearly shaking with fear. Her blue eyes were filled with tears. “Half-brother. He is my half-brother. I don’t know much of him. Father did not allow him at Winterfell for long.”

“Half-brother or not, you alone know him best. Tell us what you know child,” Varys pressed gently.

It was Margaery’s reassuring smile across the table that prompted the terrified girl to speak. “He was quiet whenever he came to the castle. Shy and didn’t talk to anyone unless they were Father, Robb or Arya.”

“Not you?” Varys questioned. His voice was sickeningly sweet.

Sansa blushed and shook her head. “Mother didn’t want us to get too close to him. She said bastards were treacherous by nature but only I listened to her. The others… well they treated him like a real brother.”

 _Real brother._ The words made her think of her twin. _Jaime, where are you?_ Jaime had been a prisoner at Riverrun after his defeat in the Battle of Whispering Wood for months, but word had come that Catelyn Stark had released Jaime in either a fit of madness or desperation. _Why are they speaking of a bastard when Jaime is being hunted like an animal?_

This war was supposed to be over. Nothing made sense. Robb Stark survived the Red Wedding by the skin of his teeth and lay under siege at Riverrun with his stubborn uncles. How was he with an army and a dragon? Why did this Jon Snow matter?

“When your brother was not at Winterfell where did your father send him? Where did he live?” Varys questioned once again.

“The Master of Whisperers asks a little girl to do his job for him,” Tyrion drunkenly japed. Father’s glare did not seem to quell his humor.

“If you have nothing of worth to say then be silent or you will be removed,” Tywin growled, his eyes sharp. Tyrion grimaced, his ugly noseless face growing even more gruesome with the expression. Tywin’s pale eyes found Sansa. “Speak girl.”

Sansa swallowed nervously. _A frightened little bird._ “Greywater Watch with Lord Howland Reed, father’s friend.”

“Howland Reed?” The buffoon parroted. Mace Tyrell looked around the room. “I’ve never heard of him. Have any of you?”

“The Reeds are sworn to the Starks. Have been for more than a thousand years or so they say.” Tyrion belched. “Their lands lay in the Neck. Swamp men, bog devils, they have been making the Ironmen who hold Moat Cailin miserable. It seems Lord Stark’s trust in the man was well placed.” Her grotesque brother bore a smile that was unsettling as if he had settled on a truth before any of them. “Please my lovely wife, did Lord Stark ever tell you of the boy’s mother?”

Sansa shook her head. “Father never spoke of her.” She wrung her hands nervously. “There were rumors though.”

“Elaborate, Lady Stark,” Varys said. Sweat dripped from the spider’s brow. Chalky white from the powder on his face. It stained the hem of his brightly colored robes.

“The men said Jon’s mother was a woman from Lys that father met in Dorne during the war,” Sansa answered.

Cersei’s eyes narrowed. “Honorable Lord Stark with a whore?” She chuckled until she saw the blank faces around the room. “I heard differently. Lord Stark got a child on Ashara Dayne and she killed herself when he stole him.” Sansa flinched. Cersei regarded her with sympathetic eyes. “No woman would like to hear her husband fathered a bastard, but it is easier to know he fucked a whore than charmed a highborn lady. I heard Lady Ashara was quite beautiful as well. Lord Stark likely considered it a small mercy for your mother.”

Mace Tyrell chimed in support. “Baseborn bastards are less problematic than sons born from two sides of nobility just on the wrong side of the blanket. I remember Lady Ashara from Harrenhal. She was one of the fairest women I’ve ever laid my eyes upon. There is little dishonor to be had on your father’s memory to be charmed by a lady such as she.”

Tyrion snorted. “I mean no offense Lord Tyrell but Stark’s love story with Ashara Dayne is merely a rumor, perhaps an elaborate cover story. If you’ve ever met Lord Stark, then you would know that if he had the opportunity to part Lady Ashara’s legs then I’d fear my lovely wife would not exist.” His mismatched eyes looked to Varys. “Tell me Lord Varys, we all know you keep track of each of our habits and vices. Did Lord Stark frequent brothels?”

Varys folded his hands before him. “Well… Lord Stark was seen returning from a brothel when he and Ser Jaime had their confrontation.” Cersei felt a flush run up her neck. It was made worse by Tyrion’s knowing smile.

“I find it hard to believe that Lord Stark was sampling the wares. Tell me, sweet sister, what do you think Lord Stark was up to?”

Tywin interrupted while Cersei fumbled for a reply. “Tyrion.” His tone was gravel.

Tyrion ignored their father. “Tell us my lovely wife, what is the color of your half-brother’s hair?”

“Silver-gold.” Sansa answered.

“And his eyes?”

“Purple and grey,” Sansa quoted from memory. By the look on the girl’s face, it was a fond one.

“Mismatched or mixed?” Tyrion was grinning evilly over his goblet.

“His left eye is dark purple… indigo when the sun is out, and his right is grey or black when it is cloudy.”

Tyrion stroked his beardless chin. He looked around the room before his eyes settled on her. “Tell me, sweet sister, did you catch sight of Lord Stark’s bastard when were in Winterfell.” Cersei shook her head. For once she was glad to hear her little brother speak. Clearly, he was leading up to something monumental. “Strange or not.” Tyrion shrugged.

“Most would seek to hide their bastards. Perhaps you didn’t notice him,” Mace Tyrell offered.

“Perhaps,” Tyrion allowed. “How handsome is this half-brother of yours?” Sansa looked caught off guard at the question. Tyrion tried to smile disarmingly but with his noseless face any expression on his face was hideous. “Go on, I won’t be jealous. On a scale of me to my handsome nephew over there, where does this Jon Snow fall?” Sansa pointed shyly at Joffrey. Tyrion cocked a brow. “As handsome as my nephew or even prettier?”

The Stark girl grew bold. “Jon is beautiful.”

Joffrey scowled fiercely. “He won’t be when I am done with him. I’ll cut both of his eyes out and feed you them along with the tongue of your traitor brother.” His fist slammed against the table and he stood. Cersei felt a swell of pride. Her beautiful son, fierce as a lion should be. His blonde hair was loose, and a fire burned in his emerald eyes. “Why are we discussing a bastard when we should be discussing how to end these Northmen? Clearly, the Freys need to be punished as well. Their reports of Robb Stark being near death were exaggerated. We need to raise an army and crush them before they rally as my father would have done.”

“Sit down boy.” Her father affixed a cold unwavering stare at Joffrey.

Her son was not quelled. “Boy?! You forget yourself, grandfather. I am the King! I make the decisions here!”

“If you want to be a king for much longer then I’d suggest you sit and be silent nephew. Your grandfather and I were about to impart some truly insightful revelations to this council.” Tyrion gave Joffrey a bored look which only served to infuriate Joffrey further.

“I will not take orders from a dwarf. This is a council of war, why are there women and a halfman present?”

Tywin did not need to stand for his voice to cut through the chaos of Joffrey’s outburst. “Any man who needs to remind the world that he is a king is no true king. Do you think you would still lay claim to that Iron Chair if Stannis’ armies had smashed the River Gate and flooded into the city? Where were you when Tywin’s fleet burned? Where you when we smashed his armies against the walls of the city? Hiding behind your mother’s skirts if my memory serves me correct. Until you can lead and plan armies yourself then you will remain silent unless called upon or I will forbid you from the council meetings altogether.”

Joffrey’s face turned bright red. His voice cracked. “I-“ He thought better of what to say. “You can’t do that. I am the king, not you.”

“Kings can be made and unmade. Do not forget you have a little brother. Perhaps he would prove worthier.” Tywin stared at Joffrey until he took his seat. Her son swallowed heavily. Cersei squeezed his hand, but he snatched it away from her. Yet he remained silent.

Tyrion cleared his throat. “As I was saying before I was so rudely interrupted, there is a boy with what Lord Stark wants us to believe to be Valyrian or Dayne features running around Winterfell in a sea of Northmen and yet none of us noticed. My sweet sister certainly has an eye for pretty boys and I have a certain interest in bastards and broken things. I am sure if he was present then one of us would have taken notice. Tell me Lady Stark, did your brother visit Winterfell recently?”

Sansa nodded once again. “He rode with Father, Robb, and Bran up to watch a deserter from the Wall be beheaded. That’s the day they came back with the wolves and the day Father announced King Robert was journeying to Winterfell.” Sadness came on the Stark girl’s face. Cersei’s eyes narrowed. She remembered those foul beasts and how they had ruled the halls of Winterfell, scaring away the dogs who normally begged for scraps. Stark’s wild daughter’s wolf had attacked Joffrey. When she demanded a pelt as recompense, Stark claimed both wolves had disappeared. Demanding an eye from Arya Stark as replacement had not gone over well with either Ned Stark or Robert. _My husband was always too soft on traitors._

“Did the bastard not want to witness the king’s arrival?” Tyrion questioned.

Sansa bit her lip. “Jon did want to stay but Father sent him back to Greywater Watch.”

Tyrion smirked. “Grand Maester Pycelle, I do hope you can prove useful and provide us some insight on this remote castle.”

Pycelle cleared his throat, offended. “M-my l-lord.” He stuttered.

Sansa smiled sweetly at the bumbling fool. “It is okay, Grand Maester. Greywater Watch has no Maester and the Crannogmen are not well known. Not even in the North.”

“I am failing to see your point, Lord Tyrion.” Mace Tyrell said. For once Cersei was inclined to agree with the man.

Margaery squeezed her father’s shoulder. “Father, isn’t it obvious?”

Tyrion smiled widely at Joffrey’s soon to be queen. The girl had the grace not to gag. “Go on, Lady Margaery. I’m sure the news will sound better coming from your lips.”

Margaery nerves were made evident by the way she smoothed her dress. Her long honey-brown locks fell in loose waves about her shoulder. She cleared her throat and spoke to Sansa, “Your half-brother, this Jon Snow has silver hair and a violet eye. He is beautiful, a rare quality in a man but not a dragonlord. The Northmen whose armies were decimated at the Red Wedding are said to have broken the siege of Winterfell with a dragon. Since the Doom of Valyria, the only family that had any control over the dragons were the Targaryens.”

Confusion colored Sansa’s face while realization slowly came to Cersei. _No, no it cannot be._ Sansa voiced the words in Cersei’s head.

Tyrion goaded the Tyrell bitch to say more. “Robert’s Rebellion began because Rhaegar Targaryen stole away Lyanna Stark. Your father returns with a child with silver-hair and hides him in a remote castle controlled by an extremely loyal bannerman in the middle of a swamp. This Jon Snow…”

“Is Rhaegar’s son,” Cersei finished. She felt light headed. _Lyanna’s ghost is set to ruin me once again._ The bitch was long dead but had gifted the world with Rhaegar’s babe. _Fuck that wolf whore!_

Mace Tyrell swallowed audibly. “This cannot be!”

Lord Tywin did not share in Mace Tyrell’s outburst. “The boy’s parentage does not matter if he cannot prove it and it seems Lord Stark had not planned for his bastard plan for his bastard to be of any import. Otherwise why wait so late in this war?”

“I think a dragon is proof enough.” Tyrion said dryly. He sipped from his wine cup. “A very large one if the rumors can be believed. A black dragon that could challenge the Black Dread at his Zenith.”

“Rumors and the ravings of mad men. All of the dragons were killed in the Dance.” Mace Tyrell denied. He shook his head and grew red in the face. Not even his daughter’s palm on his shoulder calmed him.

“Father please,” Margaery whispered.

Tyrion laughed loudly. “Not all of them. There was Silverwing who made a lair, one of her eggs could have hatched. Princess Rhaena’s dragon still lived or was it her sister Baela’s? Then there is Sheepstealer who disappeared. Cannibal too. What were their colors?”

Tywin’s voice was sharp and demanded order. “Those dragons died out a long time ago. If not, do you not think the Targaryens would not have moved heaven and earth to claim one for themselves? How many of them suffered foolish deaths just to hatch an egg? No, the boy got lucky and hatched an egg at most. A hatchling can be killed.”

Tyrion’s joy was uninterrupted. “Ah, well let us be glad he didn’t hatch three like the Targaryen girl across the Narrow Sea. Still, this Jon Snow if he is the same person in control of this rumored dragon, was enough to destroy a siege, nearly to the man. Now the Freys and the Brackens are scared shitless and calling for aid.”

Tywin grit his teeth. “And they will have it. We will destroy this Northern threat once and for all and put the realm back to order.”

Mace Tyrell, inspired by her father’s voice straightened his spine. “Lord Randall Tarly can lead the van.”

Tywin nodded. “I have already sent word to Tarly. He marches from Duskendale to the Kingsroad with six thousand men. In a week’s time those numbers will swell to nine thousand.”

“Aegon and his sister-wives met more than fifty thousand men on the Field of Fire,” Tyrion muttered over his cup.

Her father’s nostrils flared. “This Jon Snow does not have any sisters. Save for the one here and the little girl you failed to find. Did she have the makings of a dragonlord as well? I think not.”

Tyrion drummed his fingers against the table as he drank. “Maegor killed fifteen thousand men at Bitterbridge with _just_ Balerion.”

Mace Tyrell had a quick retort, “Maegor for all his faults was the finest warrior of his time. Proven unmatched on the battlefield or on in the melee. This Jon Snow is a green boy of what sixteen, seventeen years old? One taste of war and we will send him running.”

Tyrion’s black eye gleamed. “Ah yes, across the Narrow Sea so he can fuck and breed his aunt and return with four dragons instead of one. Perhaps with children to ride all the others.” Then his green eye caught the sunlight as he leaned forward. “Need I remind you his first act was to save the Young Wolf who has been aided by his uncle the Blackfish? Robb Stark was a green boy, yet he has been a persistent thorn in my father’s side for more than a year. It seems Robb Stark has traded the strength of an army for a dragon. Wonderful.”

“Dragons can be killed.” Joffrey smiled. Cersei felt only pride. _My brave lion._ “The Dornish proved it.”

Tyrion snorted. He doubled over, and his jutting forehead hit the table with a bang. “Ow!” He rubbed the growing bump and winced through the pain. “I’ve never seen you pick up a book much less read. Color me surprised you know a shred of history.”

“Enough!” Tywin snarled, his patience at an end. The golden whiskers on his face granted him a fierceness unmatched in lesser men. Mace Tyrell cowed away while Tyrion was subdued. “Together we shattered Stannis Baratheon. A man who men speak of as the greatest military mind in all of Westeros and yet now he is some beggar king on Dragonstone. Together we cornered Robb Stark at Riverrun and Balon Greyjoy is dead. There will be one king of Westeros and together we will see that it is my grandson with Lady Margaery at his side and their children ruling after them. Together we will forge a dynasty that will last a thousand years.”

He stood and took flexed his command. “Lord Mace, you will send word to your bannermen. They are to send men up the Rose Road to defend the city. Tyrion you will see if you can recall your savages, we will have need of their skills. We will send word to the Crownlands and raise levies. Thousands can be raised in weeks.”

Tyrion cocked a brow. “Thousands of peasants and farmers. Untrained and untested. They’ll be cut to pieces if you make them fight on such notice.”

Tywin cocked a brow. “You have fought in a battle Tyrion. Do not tell me you do not know the importance of fodder. The Northmen are weak and scattered. By the time they rally we will be upon them and they do themselves no favors lingering at the Twins. We’ll march up the Kingsroad with a superior force and destroy them before they can within a hundred leagues of the city.”

“As you say, father.”

Tywin called out for the Kingsguard. Ser Arys entered. “Escort Sansa Stark back to her rooms. Double her guard and see to it that she is never alone. Two maidservants are to be with her at all times, even as she bathes.”  

Ser Arys nodded. Tears spilled from Sansa’s eyes, but the girl went with the Kingsguard without protest.

“Wise move father,” Tyrion muttered. “Anything happens to that girl and this Jon Snow might burn us all.”

 

 


	2. Chapter 2

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Don't expect updates this often. I had a long weekend and was inspired. Duty calls tomorrow, unfortunately.

**Before**

**Jon Snow**

“I never knew my mother,” Jon Snow spat. He stared down at the two figures before him. By the shape of their bodies beneath their hooded robes and their voices he knew they were women. Tall for the fairer sex, they stood nearly eye to eye with him. Their faces were hidden by lacquered masks and the light of the candles were too dim for Jon to determine their eye color.

Visitors to Greywater Watch outside of the other Crannogmen were exceptionally rare. Only Jon’s father was one who could be considered a regular visitor (and he only made the journey at most once a year) and he had to be guided to the castle. For the lands around Greywater Watch were treacherous, a swamp filled with fearsome lizard lions and snakes large enough to swallow a man whole. The castle itself sat on a crannog, a man-made isle that made the castle impossible for outsiders or even ravens to find.

 _Not impossible for these two._ Jon thought. His suspicions had not quelled, even when Lord Reed greeted the two masked women with courtesy great enough for queens. Lord Reed was a small, soft spoken man; often sickly from the wound he had taken in the war. Yet after the Lord emerged from his private conversation, he was paler than Jon had ever seen. _As if he had seen a Ghost._

Now Jon sat alone with the women, save for Ghost in a corner room off the Great Hall that served as the castle’s modest library. He had read every book on the shelves. His wolf was silent and alert at one corner with watchful red eyes that did not stray from the robed figures.

“But I am sure you have heard rumors of her?” The one on the right asked. They sat across from Jon, a small table between them. Both wore dark robes made black in the light of the candles. The right one was the smaller of the two though only by an inch or less.

Jon clenched his jaw. “Why does it matter?”

A laugh came from the one on the left. “Are you always this rude to those who come to visit?”

Jon’s eyes narrowed. “We don’t have too many visitors here. And it is considered poor practice in most places to wear masks and not remove them at your hosts requests.”

Throaty laughter resounded throughout the room. Jon briefly felt foolish but schooled his face into a scowl. “Have you made such a request?” The one on the left asked. Her voice was almost playful.

“I am making it now,” Jon said, his voice firm.

“Very well, my prince.” The one on the left said. She shared a look with her companion and threw back her hood. Silver-gold hair spilled forth from her head down her back. It was the same shade as Jon’s own. He sat straighter in his seat. Her companion did the same and raven black locks spilled forth. “We hide our faces not for a trick or to scare but because the attention we would draw would be distracting.”

When their faces were revealed Jon knew they spoke the truth. His eyes widened, and he was driven speechless. The woman to his left was a beauty that would be heralded in the halls of Old Valyria. Her face was heart-shaped, her skin smooth and pale like cream. Flawless. The candles seemed to brighten allowing to Jon to take stock of the color of her eyes. One was a deep dark blue while the other was a bright green. Her lips were full and pink. Widening into a seductive smile in response to his reaction.

Her companion was nearly as beautiful. Light olive skin, nary a blemish with laughing violet eyes and high cheekbones. Lips a shade darker curved upward. He felt a flush come on his face. They let him gaze at them in silence until he gained control of his faculties.

“And now you know why.” The blonde woman set her elbow on the table and leaned forward. “Now Jon Snow, tell us what you know about your mother.”

Jon swallowed. He stared at the blonde woman’s mismatched eyes for the dozenth time. Save for his own silver-hair, his heterochromatic eyes were his most notable feature. _Who are you?_

The blonde woman smiled. “We will share our names soon enough. Speak Jon Snow.”

He felt compelled to answer her honestly. “I-” The words stilled in his throat. What did he truly know about his mother? How many times had he wanted to ask his father only to be dissuaded by Lord Reed? _Your father loved your mother very much Jon but there is a pain that comes with loving a woman and losing her before her time. It is best not to reopen wounds. He will tell you when the time is right._ “Just rumors,” Jon Snow answered.

“Tell us of these rumors you have heard,” The dark-haired woman spoke. Her voice was just as lovely as the look of her.

“She’s dead.” What else would explain why his father never spoke of her? Why Lord Stark left Jon in Greywater Watch away from his siblings? “I think I killed her.”  

“Women die in childbirth all the time Jon Snow. The world does have its cruelties,” The raven-haired woman soothed.

“And did you ever hear a name?” The blonde questioned.

He shook his head, but his jaw clenched at a memory that came to him from a rare visit to Winterfell. _Your mother was a whore. A beautiful perfumed one from Lys. Her people are famous for it. Big purple eyes and silver-gold hair with an even better pussy. Not even honorable Lord Stark could resist. Then he felt the guilt. Why else would Lord Stark spend time and coin on a whore’s son?_ Theon Greyjoy. He still remembered the pain from breaking his right hand on the Greyjoy’s jaw. Jon flexed his right hand to dissipate the tension in his knuckles.

“No,” Jon Snow said coldly. He took a breath to master his emotions and then turned his gaze on the two beauties before him. “My father never spoke of her. Neither did Lord Reed though I know he knows who she is. So, unless you can tell me anything of substance then I think this conversation is at an end.”

The blonde woman leaned back in her seat. Mirth on her face was plain. Her eyes glimmered in the light. “Half a boy and yet he speaks like a man should.”

Jon’s eyes narrowed. “I am of age.” Six and ten though no one could tell him his exact birth date. Still, by the laws of all the Seven Kingdoms he was a man.

“Yes, I think you are.” The blonde eyed him up and down. She loosened her outer robe and her neck was revealed along with her elegant shoulders. Jon failed to place either of their ages, they were older than him perhaps close to Lady Stark’s age with features that would draw every eye in every court in the realm.

The raven-haired beauty swatted her friend’s thigh. “Don’t tease him.” Then with a smile she said, “Not now at least. Tell us Jon Snow, what have you heard of the war?”

“War?” Jon questioned. “The skirmishes in the Riverlands are being called a war now?” _Father’s men failed to put an end of the Mountain that Rides?_

“I am afraid they are more than a skirmish.” The blonde spoke. Her brow furrowed. “Has Lord Reed truly kept you so blind and deaf on this moving castle of his?”

“My father is Hand of the King; any war will be short-lived, and the realm will be returned to the King’s Peace.” He insisted.  The look of sympathy on both their faces was unsettling. “What is it?”

The raven-haired beauty reached across the table to take his hand in hers. Such contact was startling, but Jon fought the urge to flinch away. “Your father is no longer Hand of the King. He is dead.”

Jon shook his head in disbelief. _Father can’t be dead._ Tears threatened to sting his eyes. “Arya? And Sansa?” Sansa was to be the Queen of the Seven Kingdoms. Arya… fierce little Arya. Everyone knew she was his favorite and he hers. “Tell me!”

“Sansa remains a hostage of the Lannisters. Arya has not been seen in months. Robb Stark came down from Winterfell with an army.” The blonde answered smoothly. Her eyes watched him, hawk-like, as if she was committing his every reaction to memory.

Jon took a breath. “The Lannisters you say. Are they the ones who killed my father?” He could feel the rage stirring beneath the surface. _Calm yourself Snow._

“They are,” The blonde replied.

Jon nodded. His rage had cooled to ice in his veins. “And my brother Robb, how goes his war?”

“They call him the Young Wolf,” The raven-haired beauty said. She still bore her look of sympathy.

A smile touched his lips. “Like the Young Dragon, Prince Daeron.” She nodded. “I take it he is winning?”

“For now,” came the blonde’s voice. She arched an elegant eyebrow at him when he frowned. “There are forces at play that your brother has no control over. No means to stand against.”

“Have you heard of Stannis Baratheon?” The raven-haired beauty asked him.

“The King’s brother,” Jon answered. “What of him?”

“He has a witch whispering in his ears and I fear she means to curse Robb Stark along with all the others who stand in the way of Stannis’ path to the throne. Already Renly Baratheon lies in the ground at the hand of Stannis. If a man can order the death of his brother, what makes you think he will have any reservations about killing a Stark?” Her mismatched eyes seemed to peer into his soul.

“Do you mean to scare me?” Jon questioned. He leaned forward so she could take stock of his face. _And_ his lack of fear. “I grew around men descended from the Children of the Forest. Magic flows in my veins. Ghost to me.” The albino wolf was at his side in an instant. Sitting on his haunches, Ghost was eye level with the women. “Let Stannis’ witch curse my brother. I will cut her heart out and make him eat it.”

To his frustration the blonde woman merely smiled. “I like your fire Jon Snow, but you speak boldly and mean to act swiftly yet you have no plan.”

Jon stood. He grabbed his spear from the corner of the room and let the steel tip catch the light. “I will join my brother’s army and avenge my father.”

“And you will die.” The blonde’s voice was deadpan. Bored even.

Jon glared at the beautiful woman. “Valar Morghulis.” _Let me die with my spear in hand. Let them say Lord Stark had four sons not three._

She chuckled, ignoring her friend’s pointed looks. “What is it with little boys so eager to answer the call of war before their lives have truly began. Have you even gotten your cock wet?”

Jon faltered for a moment. It was enough. Her smile turned predatory. “Oh? Not even a simple lay? And here I was sure the girls would be beating each other with a stick to get to you. You’re as pretty as Daemon was.”

“His father was the same way.” The raven-haired beauty added.

“You knew my father?” Jon questioned.

She nodded carefully. “And your uncle.”

“Benjen?”

She shook her head. “Brandon.”

Jon swallowed. Her answer through his mind for a loop. The only story he knew of Brandon was the Tourney of Harrenhal. Lord Stark did not like to talk about his brother nor his sister. “Who are you?”

“You should sit,” She said.

“I think I’ll stand.”

“Sit,” The blonde commanded.

Jon found himself in his seat, his spear leaning against the wall. A fog clouded his mind. Ghost’s sudden growl cut through the confusion. _Ghost never growls._

“Quiet wolf.” Ghost grew silent once again.

“Do not be alarmed, Jon.” The raven-haired beauty said gently. She smiled at him reassuringly. “I said I knew your father and while I knew Ned only briefly, I spent many years with your _real_ father. He was my brother’s best friend.”

“You aren’t any sense. Ned Stark is my _real_ father.” He stressed the word in mockery.

She shook her head. “No, while that may be your truth. It is a truth that was fabricated to protect you. Your real father was Prince Rhaegar Targaryen.”

“No,” Jon Snow bit out. “I don’t know why you came all this way to lie-”

“You believe we came all this way to lie? That we found a moving castle in the middle of a swamp to lie to a bastard that he is the son of a dead prince? You were so ready to run off to war with your brother… sorry cousin but now you run from the truth? Are you a coward Jon Snow?”

Jon’s temper flared fiercely. He stood in indignation.  A curse was on his lips. The room darkened momentarily, pitch black save for the moonlight that came through the porthole. Then he found himself up against the wall the blonde woman pressed against him. A dagger was at his throat. _She’s fast._ Jon thought with a mix of excitement and fear. He hadn’t seen her move.

“Sheira!” The raven-haired beauty exclaimed.

Ghost’s snarl was far louder this time. His hackles raised and the direwolf looked ready to leap across the table.

Rather than fear, Jon found a playful smirk on the blonde’s face. “Call off your wolf.”

He met her with a smile. “Kill me and Ghost will rip you both to shreds.” His words carried the weight of a promise.

Her brow arched. “Kill you? I only just met you, Jon Snow. Consider this a test of your reflexes.” She waved a finger in front of his face. “Unfortunately, it seems you failed.” He made to catch her wrist, but she twisted away from him. Through his third-eye, Jon felt Ghost crouch. His wolf calculated the best trajectory to tackle the woman without bringing Jon down with them. 

“Now Ghost!” Jon ordered shoving her away from, her knife nicked his neck as he shoved her elbow toward her.

The blonde was just as quick. “Ashara!” She called out. Before Ghost’s feet could leave the ground, a cloud of powder hit the wolf full in the face. Ghost sneezed violently, he fell back into one of the shelves of books lining the walls, knocking several books loose. Ghost sneezed once again, and another wave of books hit the floor. Their spines split on impact and papers were thrown about. To Jon’s surprise, Ghost snapped at the paper and the air as if he had lost his wits.

“What did you do?” Jon snarled at the raven-haired woman.

His attention was wrenched away as his head was slammed against the wall. Dazed, Jon barely registered the feel of the blonde-haired woman’s tongue swiping at his neck. He shuddered and this close to her the smell of her filled his nostrils. She smelled like an ocean breeze with a hint of sweetness he could not identify. His cock stiffened. This time his shove was successful in separating them.

The blonde glared at him haughtily. Blood was on her bottom lip. _My blood._ Jon realized. He felt his neck, but the wound was already dry. Ghost still snapped at the air, his pupils wide and unseeing. He looked for his spear, but it was at the opposite corner of the room.

“Calm your wolf, warg.” Her outer robe fell away baring her arms to his eye. Her undershirt wrapped tight around her torso, showcasing her full bosom and small waist. She was slender with enough muscle to lend a grace to her body.

“It is merely dream powder. Ghost is merely having a waking dream.” The raven-haired woman spoke. She too stood, her expression wary. Jon decided the blonde was more of a threat, but an eye should be kept on the raven-haired woman as well.

He tensed his body to alertness while reaching through his third eye to Ghost. Rabbits bouncing through a field graced his vision. In response, Jon sent Ghost his own mental image of the room, the women and the wolf snapping at air. Sense returned to the animal and Ghost’s ears perked. Jon went to stand by his wolf, a table between them and the two strange women. “Who are you?” He demanded once again. _What are you?_ He thought when he looked at the blonde. That predatory look in her eye had a new meaning for him.

“Who are you is the better question?” The blonde grinned.

Jon scowled. “I am tired of your evasiveness. I say I am Jon Snow, bastard of Eddard Stark. You name me Rhaegar Targaryen’s bastard. So, who is to say?”

“Who said anything about a bastard?” The raven-haired woman questioned. “Rhaegar married Lyanna in front of a heart tree. You are trueborn Jon Snow.”

His heart sunk. _Lyanna…Lord Stark abandoned me here not because I am his bastard but because I am his sister’s rape child._ Everyone knew the Starks went to war because his aunt…his mother was stolen.

The emotions must have been plain on his face for the raven-haired woman was quick to clarify. “The wedding was not under duress. Your mother married Rhaegar willingly. I was there at the wedding as was my brother. If the lies the Usurper spread were true, then we would have never consented.”

Jon could not believe her. “Uncle Brandon marched down to King’s Landing to save his sister. The Mad King killed his friends and held him prisoner for half a year. Rhaegar Targaryen stole my-” ‘Mother’ caught in his throat. “Lyanna. And then he raped her. Raped her and made me. What else would make sense?”

“That your Uncle Brandon was a fool,” The blonde said flippantly. “That your grandfather, the sane one, cared more for his family’s ambitions rather than his daughter’s happiness. Lyanna made a choice to break away from Robert Baratheon and Prince Rhaegar was that choice. Her father knew the length of his daughter’s will. And you can be damn sure her brothers knew of Lyanna’s unhappiness. The truth of the matter is that Lyanna made a choice that women are often not allowed to make.”

The raven-haired woman smiled sadly.  “Lyanna chose love and Brandon could not accept that. He rode to the capital to bring his sister back. So, she could do her duty and wed her betrothed.”

The blonde woman stalked to the edge of the table. “And then he challenged the Crown Prince of the Realm to come out and die. Even a sane king would have had his tongue for that and Aerys was far from sane.”

Jon’s temper brewed. “Why are you telling me this? And this time answer the fucking question. Who are you?”

“We are telling you this, Jon Snow, because your mother named you Prince Daemon Targaryen. Second son of Prince Rhaegar Targaryen, named for two of the most formidable warriors the realm has ever seen. She was certain that you would one day be spoken of in their company.” The raven-haired beauty’s smile was reassuring.

“As to who we are.” The blonde pointed to her friend.

“Ashara Dayne.” The raven-haired woman spoke. His eyes widened. “You should be dead,” he insisted.

The blonde laughed. “Well, I suppose if we are counting then I should be long dead. Yet here I am. As beautiful as ever. Go on and say my name. That should be hint enough.”

Jon racked his brain. He took a long glance at her perfect features. Her long silver-blonde locks and beautiful eyes. Some might have labeled the mismatched eyes an imperfection, but he found them the opposite. _It can’t be._ “You would be well over one hundred years old.” _Sheira, Ashara called her._

The blonde smiled. A flash of perfect white teeth and canines that were strangely sharp. “Who is counting?”

“Sheira Seastar. One of Aegon the Unworthy’s Great Bastards.”

Sheira’s nose wrinkled. “How great of a deed does one need to perform for their name not to be associated with their lecherous father’s prolific…” She struggled for a word. “Lechery.” The woman shrugged. “Very good nephew. And most promising it seems being raised in this shithole has not stunted your wits too much. I take it you can read?”

Jon’s face twitched. Greywater Watch was small and simple compared to the outside world, he had seen so little of, but it was still home. “I can.”

“Who taught you? There is no Maester here.”

“Lady Jyanna.” She had taught him before she passed and made him promise in front of the Weirwood that he would read from a book every day. It was a promise Jon had kept.

The two women nodded. “Can you fight?” Lady Ashara questioned.

Before Jon could answer, Sheira spoke. “Not very well it seems. There is no Master at Arms here. No knights. I bet you were gifted that spear, but you haven’t used it for much more than hunting.”

“I’ve spared with many here.” Mainly Meera but these two need not know that.

Sheira’s laugh was musical and infuriating. “The Crannogmen are many things but they are far from warriors. They are small and well suited to attack from the shadows, unseen and well suited to bleed back into their bogs. You would find no true challenge here on strength alone.”

“Did you spar at Winterfell Jon?”

“I have.” He had. Ser Rodrick had looked down on the use of his spear. Naming it a peasant’s weapon. Instead, Jon held a sword in hand and was set against the other trainees. Quickness and strength earned him many wins against the green boys, but it had all been a ruse to make him overconfident when he spared Robb. Their bout had been quick and embarrassing. _I would be better than him if I had the same training._ There was no master of arms in Greywater and Winterfell would never be his true home. _Neither Stark nor Snow…_ Targaryen seemed too alien.

“He has much to learn,” Sheira told Ashara. Ashara nodded in agreement.

“Did you two come all this way with no purpose other than informing me that I am not Lord Stark’s son?”

Ashara cocked her head. “Ned Stark loved you as much as his own sons even if he was not allowed to often show it. Rhaegar and Lyanna would have loved you as well.”

He shrugged. Not knowing how to react to her words. Rhaegar and Lyanna were dead. Their love meant nothing to him. _Father is dead too._ He clenched his fist and the tears dried before they could fall. Steeling his voice, he asked, “Do you expect me to announce this to the realm? How many Great Lords will support a silver-haired bastard who claims he is the son of Rhaegar Targaryen? The son no one knew about?”

“Not many Jon. But that is not why we are here,” Ashara spoke.

“You said you wished to help your brother. To avenge your father and save if your sisters if possible?” Sheira questioned. Jon nodded measuredly. “Your brother does not need your spear, there are two dozen warriors surrounding him at all times that are all better than you. He may need your wolf, however. Ghost would be better served as eyes at Robb Stark’s side.”

“And you would have me sit here and do nothing? I am no coward.” Jon bit out.

“No, but have you stopped to think why news of the war has been so absent? Lord Reed has already sent a detachment of men to defend the causeway to the North. Why weren’t you made aware?” Sheira’s barbed questions only served to fuel his annoyance.

“I will have answers from him soon enough.”

“I have your answer,” Sheira stated. “You are too brash. The drive to prove your worth and make a name for yourself makes you reckless. Jon Snow wants the world to know that he matters and that makes Jon Snow his own greatest enemy. Robb Stark nor his sisters do not need Jon Snow. The sum of your contribution to his cause would be minimal. It was doomed to fail as soon as he sent the Greyjoy North. Now Ironmen run amuck in the King’s homeland while he is a thousand miles south.” She sat in her seat and crossed her long legs. “Your brother will die, and his war will be lost.”

“You said Robb is winning,” Jon insisted.

“Indeed, he has won every battle, but wars are not merely fought on the battlefield. They are fought at court, in conversation and they are won with alliances and decisive political actions.” Ashara spoke. She too sat, and Jon found himself sitting. A welcoming smile touched her full lips. Longing stirred in Jon’s chest.

“And Robb has done none of those?”

Ashara shook her head. “I fear not.”

“I won’t sit idly by while my family dies,” Jon spoke. Robb and Arya were no longer his brother and sister. Nor Bran and Rickon, or even Sansa. But they were still his kin.

“We are not asking you too. In fact, quite the opposite. Tell me, Jon, if you had the ability to bring a hundred thousand men to your brother’s aid, would you?” Sheira questioned. The playful smirk was back on her lips.

Jon scoffed at the absurdity. “If there were a hundred thousand men who would fight for the North then I would do so in a heartbeat.”

Sheira nodded. “I thought so. I cannot promise the men, but we believe there exists something even better.”

“Better than a hundred thousand men?” Jon’s brow arched. “Now you’ll tell me that there is an ancient and forgotten dragon somewhere in Westeros waiting for a rider.”

Sheira laughed. “I think we will get along very well nephew. Very well indeed.”

Ashara shook her head good-naturedly. Her deep violet eyes affixed to Jon. “If you want to save your brother’s life and save your family a lot of pain and misery then you must come with us.”

“Yes, Jon.” Sheira purred. “It is time to kill the boy and let the dragon be born.”

 

 

 

 

 

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Haven't edited this chapter yet so please forgive mistakes. Will run it through Grammarly when I have the energy/time. 
> 
> lots of people want Jon/Dany (which is my favorite pairing anyways) does everyone want that? Currently, I am playing fast and loose with the narrative. 
> 
> Comments and kudos appreciated. Unless your name is Kellersab or Andrew Snowden. 
> 
>  
> 
> p.s  
> Smut is most likely to happen next chapter


	3. Chapter 3

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Another quick update for y'all. I know I need to edit these past three chapters. 
> 
> Enjoy

**Jon Snow**

“Are you sure you want to do this Jon? I fear this is a path you cannot walk away from once you set foot on it.” Lord Reed’s mud brown eyes were as serious as Jon had ever seen. By the time Jon was twelve he had surpassed Howland Reed in height, but he still looked up to the short Lord as much as he did his father. What the man lacked in height, he made up for in wisdom.

Jon nodded carefully. All the rage he felt at being lied to had dissipated the instant he came into Lord Reed’s presence.

“We made a promise to Lyanna to keep you safe. Giving you a Northern name and leaving you here with me was the only option available to us.” Howland Reed had explained. “The rumors your father spread about your mother were meant to give some plausibility regarding your appearance. I think Ned had hoped the lies would be widespread and believable enough that you could make a life for yourself without fear of assassination. Perhaps the south of the Neck would have never been truly safe but the North…”

Lord Reed sighed. “The gods were too cruel taking your mother from us at such a young age. I see much of her in you. Please forgive me that I could not tell you the truth. The vow of silence I swore to your uncle was not released, even in death.”

Jon clasped the smaller man’s shoulder. “There is nothing to forgive, my Lord. I would not be alive if were not for the kindness of you and your family.” He bowed his head in respect. “I will be eternally in debt to your house.”

Their exchange had been over a week ago. In that time, he gave a final goodbye to Ghost who he had released on the dry banks shouldering the marsh lands. To his shame, Jon had shed tears then. Ghost was his closest friend and it felt wrong to be separated from the wolf.

“I will see you again boy. I don’t know when, but I will,” Jon whispered. He hugged the wolf fiercely and then watched from their crannog as the albino wolf slipped through the trees. Running west.

“Direwolves do not fare well on ships. And he would draw far too much scrutiny,” Shiera had explained. The beautiful woman was strangely sympathetic and did not comment on his tears. Ashara was even more so. She pulled him into a warm embrace and did not release him until his blood was set a boil at their prolonged contact. Jon had pulled away from her in embarrassment and sat in silence at the corner of the crannog until his erection subsided. 

_She is old enough to be your mother._ Jon reminded himself. In fact, Ashara shared the same birth year as Lyanna Stark. Jon wondered if his mother would look as timeless as the two beauties before him if she still had lived. _Does Lady Ashara not age like Shiera?_ The women shared a strange connection. Often, they seemed to communicate with just looks alone. He was not sure if their connection was magical or simply one bred out of decades of familiarity. 

The weeks on their moss and wood isle passed quickly. Marsh lands in the neck stretched from coast to coast if one knew how to navigate and Jon had explored these lands with Meera and Jojen for hundreds of miles. They passed other Crannogmen who knew Jon by sight, even the ones who lived more than a hundred miles from Greywater Watch. _Simple folk looked at with scorn by the rest of Westeros. The perfect people to hide a dead prince’s son amongst._ Often the Crannogmen would approach to touch his hair or stare at him in wonder but none had ever questioned his parentage nor looked down at him for his bastardy. They were better people than most.

Their crannog was well sized and provisioned for the journey. It was Lord Reed’s final gift; one Jon would return once they reached the coast as the vessel was not built to sail the sea. There was a curving hut built to withstand the winds. Atop of it sat square sails and the base of the crannog was made of wooden stilts built on a floating bed of mud and reeds.

Lady Ashara seemed most impressed by his ability to navigate the marshes. He moved to adjust the sails, measured the changes in the wind by instinct and experience, circumvented sand bars and deceptively shallow pools as Lord Reed had taught him. Meera was better but Jon was a close second. She sat with him most often through the day, wearing her robes and hood despite the heat and humidity. Her mask was left in the two large trunks that held all ladies’ possessions.

Jon found her a most pleasant company. She was fond of questioning almost every detail of his life. His childhood, his relationship with his cousins, Jyanna and Meera and Jojen. Lady Ashara took particular interest in the latter once he mentioned Jojen’s greensight.

The boy’s dreams were often confusing and could be misinterpreted but they leant him great wisdom. Jojen was held in high respect by all the Crannogmen for the gift of greensight was rare but welcomed.

“Is he the one who trained you to learn how to use your gift? How to warg?” Ashara asked.

Jon nodded. He looked at her, waiting for some sign of trepidation or even fear. Wargs were rare in the neck but skinchangers while uncommon were not unheard of. Even for a people so closely connected to the Children of the Forest regarded many who possessed the gift with suspicion. For good reason. Stories spoke of the Marsh Kings who once claimed dominion over the Neck. They were cruel men whose power was fueled by sorcery. Legions of lizard-lions under their thrall would fall upon any who opposed them until finally, the Old Kings of Winter fell upon them with Fire and Sword. Slew the last Marsh King and all his sons and took his daughters as wives. The rest of Westeros had their own stories, most of them not positive. The gift could be a weapon lent to a privileged few.

There was no fear he could detect in Lady Ashara. Only intrigue. “Jojen taught once he heard of my wolf dreams. Now he and Meera are heading North to teach Bran and Rickon.” The last bit he had learned just before his departure. Jon had thought the two’s absence was due to them visiting the Blackmyres or the Boggs as they often were prone to do. _More secrets held from me._ Jon flexed his right hand. If he had known, then he might have joined them.

“Is Ghost your only familiar?” She questioned. Her head tilted and the way the sunlight caught her violet eyes nearly made Jon spill the whole truth. He stopped himself.

“I had a hawk once, but it died.” Fyrewing he had named it for it had dark wings with a strip of red on the undersides of its wings. Jon had found the bird half drowned in marsh and pulled it from the water before a pack of otters could make a meal of it. Nursing the bird back to health had formed their bond. A strong one, there were few things more exhilarating than soaring in the skies under the power of your own wings. Nothing more devastating than a hunter’s arrow through the heart. Jon’s wrath had been fierce. Ghost had caught the hunter’s scent and tracked the man back to the hovel he called a home. He could still remember the man’s screams… and the flow of warm blood on his tongue. And the man’s wife…

Shiera was a different sort of company than Ashara. She spent the sun lit hours in the long hall, avoiding the rays of the sun like a plague. Yet Jon was not sure she slept, at least not deeply. Her eyes found his when he entered the hall. The reed mat that served as their doorway swayed behind him. A black sheet had been hung up over the cot of sheets and furs that served as bedding and Shiera pulled the back the sheet to regard him. “Jon, have you come to keep company?” Her tone remained perpetually playful.

He frowned at her, wondering if she was playing a trick. _Why did I come in here?_ His original intent was lost to him. Before he could make his exit, Shiera smiled a disarmingly. The bit of light that slipped through the dark sheet and elsewhere where the boards of the hut were not quite flush made her eyes gleam. Silver-gold hair spilled in an elegant mess about her face.

“Lose the boots and come join me,” She curled her finger at him in invitation. Jon sighed and kicked his boots off his feet. He padded across the wood floor barefooted to Shiera. The woman pulled back the curtain allowing him entry. His breath nearly hitched at the sight of her. Her robes had been traded for a sleeping slip that was nearly sheer. The smooth fabric stopped above mid-thigh, showcasing the near entirety of her long legs. Thin straps were all that held the fabric to her shoulder. With every movement he could see the bounce of her full bosom.

Jon stilled at the sight. It took a long moment for him to master himself. Weeks spent with these women had not lessened their effect on him. He made to sit but Shiera pulled him till he lay next her on a pillow. She snuggled against him, pressing her nose into his neck. Jon’s arm wrapped around her waist while she draped a long leg across his waist. His heart hammered in his chest.

“Did you get bored of sweet Ashara?” Shiera purred.

“No,” Jon said truthfully. Lady Ashara was wonderful company. While their conversation was a more than adequate entertainment to combat the tedium of traveling, Ashara remained evasive of her past. She was fond of learning all that she could about him but his questions as to why she faked her death or what she had been occupied for the near two decades Westeros thought her dead either went unanswered or were deflected for some other topic. He threaded his fingers through Shiera’s long locks. “You two hold your secrets as if they were made of the finest gems.”

She grinned. “What would you like to know?”

“A great deal of things. First, why do you avoid the sunlight like the plague?”

“Perhaps I am merely nocturnal,” Shiera replied quickly. Her fingers traced a pattern across his chest.

Jon’s brow furrowed. “Nocturnal would imply that you sleep during the day. I don’t think I have seen you sleep at all.”

“Does that alarm you?” Shiera pressed. Her caress of his chest had not stopped. _She is trying to distract me._ Jon realized. He grabbed her wrist to still the motion.

“No,” he denied. He knew such knowledge should alarm him. Shiera’s very presence seemed overflowing with the promise of hidden power and knowledge. More than a hundred years of youth would grant her time and opportunities that few could match.

Her pink lips curved upward. “If it helps you sleep at night then you should be glad to know that I do need to rest. Let us call it a waking a sleep. I need less of it than you do but I still need it all the same.” Then in his ear she whispered, “There are other things I need as well. With much greater frequency perhaps, you can help me with those too.”

Jon swallowed heavily. “I’m not sure if I should believe half the things you say or write them off as teasing.”

She shrugged. “I do like seeing you blush. You are even cuter when you do. So innocent but with so much potential. Exciting really. You remind me of-” Shiera stopped for a moment to reconsider her words. “Never mind that. Grow used to the teasing, it is not likely to stop.”

_She has her secrets as well._ “How are you alive?” He asked her for what must have been the tenth time. Every answer was slightly different. Every answer left him with more questions.

“Through concerted effort and great sacrifice.” Once again, her nose nuzzled against his neck and then her lips were pressing against his pulse. “You’ve already asked me this. Think of something else.”

Jon made an effort to ignore the effect she was having on his body. “Where are we going?” Questions he had certainly answered both her and Ashara even before their departure. The two remained frustratingly evasive. _Perhaps I am a fool for going with them._ The thought of helping his family drove him onward but he had no idea how this journey would in anyway help Robb. _Robb fights for his people in the Riverlands and we mean to sail the Narrow Sea._

“When you need to know then you will. Not sooner nor later.” Shiera replied as her words were in anyway satisfactory. _Sometimes the journey is more important than the destination._ Had been Ashara’s answer when he put her to question. _I am a poor interrogator._

“I am not a child. Nor do I see the purpose of omitting any detail of importance from me. How am I supposed to plan and prepare?” His appeal did little.

Shiera cocked a brow. “I could be your grandmother more than thrice over. If I name you a child then you are one and do not worry your pretty head my child, we will take care of you.”

Jon glared. “You don’t look old enough to be my grandmother and like I said, I should be prepared for any trials to come.”

“Oh, if Rhaella still lived I have no doubt that she would still be quite beautiful. Valyrian blood tends to grant longevity.”

This woman was most skilled at ignoring his inquiries. She was so skilled at turning the topic of conversation that Jon might have labeled it magic. _Don’t let her distract you._ “If you won’t tell me our destination or even our purpose then at least tell me this, why me? Why did you decide to come to Greywater Watch instead of going anywhere else?”

Shiera pouted. “Why Jon, you know our purpose. You want to save your family and we mean to help you. Is that so hard to understand? As for why we are helping you, who else would we help?”

“Robb. He is a king with an army and clear lineage.”

“I bear no relation to the Starks. Helping you, helps them and that is enough for me.” _Not your purpose._ Jon realized; he would store her answer as a piece of an unclear puzzle.

“And what makes me so special?” Jon pressed.

“You are Prince Daemon Targaryen, heir to the Iron Throne. I’d say you’re the most special man in the Seven Kingdoms.” Her eyes glimmered and her flattery threatened to overwhelm him.

Jon took a breath to regain his wits. “As I recall, Viserys Targaryen was forced across the Narrow Sea as a child. If being a Targaryen is what makes me so special, then why not help my uncle or aunt? I think they could have used your help more than I.”

Her smile was almost predatory. “We are all merely sailors on the seas of fate, Jon. Would that I could have spared those two poor souls from all the horrors in the world. But the trials have made your aunt stronger than she ever would have been if she lived a life of comfort. You too, I suspect would have had the strength to face what the world threw at you, but your guardians took the promise they made Lyanna Stark too literally. They sought to protect you, hide you at the threat of your very potential. That could not be allowed.”

This time Jon cocked a brow. “My potential? How can you be so sure that I will amount to anything meaningful? I might be trueborn but who will believe it? Who will care that I am Rhaegar’s son?”

Shiera stroked his face. “More than you would believe. Especially when they have the chance to gaze upon you. Daemon won friends with his looks alone.”

_Daemon Blackfyre._ It was strange to speak of someone who died so long ago with such great familiarity. He did not like the comparison. “I have no intention of being the next Blackfyre.”

Shiera laughed her musical laugh. “The king that sits the Iron Throne is no true king. Daemon rebelled against Daeron the Good and split the realm apart. Is there anyone other than his mother who believes Joffrey is a good king? No, when the realm hears of the return of Rhaegar’s son they will cheer.”

“Robb already has the love of his people,” Jon countered. They may have been raised in different castles and seen each other only a few rare occasions but Jon knew his cousin was a good person. _What trueborn son will kneel to a bastard anyways?_

Shiera’s eyes gleamed. “Fortunately, your cousin will be in your debt when you save his life. Let that be your source of ambition and clear your doubts.” Her thumb brushed his lips. “You need to have more confidence in yourself. Men always question the worth of those in command but to have any sort of success those that lead must they themselves believe that they are worthy.”

Unable to resist he kissed her thumb. And then her palm and then her wrist. Shiera cupped the back of his head and pulled him into a kiss. The taste of her. Jon moaned as her tongue slipped past his lips to play with his own. They curled against each other; her one leg wrapped around his waist while they lay on their sides. If his cock could get any harder, then he knew not how.

Shiera’s eyes were playful when they finally parted. She rolled him onto his back and straddled his waist. Jon gasped as their sexes came in contact through the fabric of their clothing. Her nipples were hard studs pressing insistently against the fabric of her slip. Silver-gold hair hung like a loose mane from her head, mixing with his own when she leaned down to kiss him again.

His hands found her thighs and he delighted in caressing the soft and smooth skin. Some form of dark magic extended Shiera’s life force but she felt just as real and alive as any woman could. More so even for every brush against her skin sent pinpricks rushing through Jon’s own.

Her heady scent filled his nose, threatening a descent for him into a lust fueled madness. She grabbed at his thread shirt and pushed above his head so that his torso was bare. To his utter delight, her slip was soon to follow. He drank in the sight of her body. Shiera’s breast were full, tear dropped shaped and caped with pale pink nipples. Her belly was toned, her waist thin and her hips well rounded. She was nude save for an exotic pair of smallclothes made of dark Myrish lace that concealed her pussy from his hungry eyes. Somehow the obstructing garment made Jon’s want for her even greater.

She rolled and bucked her hips in a dance atop his cock. The look she gave him was so seductive that Jon nearly spilled in an instant. Shiera recognized his plight, delighted by the intensity of his reaction she dragged out of him. “Careful Prince, we are only just getting started.” Her fingers found his nipples and gave a twist. The sudden pain was enough to pull him back from the edge.

In response, Jon kneaded the cheeks of her bottom then laid a harsh slap. First one cheek and then when he saw the sudden flash of desire in Shiera’s eyes he repeated the contact on the other. “Fuck,” Jon muttered as her cunt dragged back and forward on top of his cock. His large hands gripped Shiera’s bottom tightly, aiding her motions.

The bounce of her breasts as she rode him was too tantalizing a sight for him to ignore. He rose onto his elbows and tipped Shiera forward, so he could suckle on her nipples. Her buds stiffened under his tongue.

“Play with them as you suck.” Shiera ordered. He did his best to comply. He cupped her breasts, feeling the weight of them in his palm. They were large though not outrageously so without sag or blemish. Jon stroked the undersides and kissed and licked around her nipples as Shiera instructed. Even the taste of her skin was intoxicating. There was the saltness of her sweat that left a delicious after taste on his tongue every time he kissed her.

Shiera then cupped her heavy breasts and fed him each nipple one after the other. Feeling mischievous, Jon teased the nips between his teeth. She hissed and pulled on his head, so he was all but smothered by her bosom. Still, Shiera rode him.

She gave a shove and Jon found himself on his back once again. The haughty, beautiful smirk she gave him set his blood to boil, his seed churned in his balls.

“You’re ready to burst, aren’t you?” Shiera reached between his legs to grip his turgid cock. Jon’s hips stuttered as she stroked him through his pants. “It would be such a shame to make such a big mess in these pants.” Deftly her fingers undid the laces and Jon lifted his hips, so she could push his pants and smallclothes down his legs. They tangled at mid-thigh but Shiera’s attention was devoted to his cock. Released from confinement, it slapped against his belly with an audible smack. Precum leaked from his tip. One elegant hand encircled his base while the other played with his tip. She was smirking again. “No wonder you are still a virgin. I don’t think this would fit in these tiny crannogwomen.”

Jon could hardly believe his eyes at the sight before him. Nude and kneeling before him with her hands wrapped around his length, Jon fully understood why Bloodraven and Bittersteel went to war over this woman. Her breasts shook with every stroke of his cock and the words that left her perfect lips were of the highest caliber of filth. “Cum all over my fingers so I can taste you.” She bent over and placed a chaste kiss on the crown of his cock. Jon cried out as her lips enveloped his crown and her tongue teased and played with his slit. He squirmed as the tip of her tongue wriggled inside. Shiera smirked around him and suckled lightly while her hands pumped up and down his cock.

It was impossible for him to last under such ministrations. To his light disappointment, Shiera pulled away before he could spend in her mouth. Her palm caught his heavy blasts of seed. She stroked him with her soiled hands while he came. It felt as if his balls were doing their best to give Shiera a year’s worth of cum. The feel of her cum streaked fingers gliding up and down his cock was well worth the mess.

Jon groaned as she continued stroking him even after his climax concluded. “Sensitive,” he muttered but Shiera was not to be denied. Instead she slipped his softening cock back between her jaws and proceeded to clean him of his seed. Her mouth bobbed up and down his cock. With nary a breath she took him deep in her throat. A shudder worked through his body as she repeated the action again and again. Her wet mouth worked up and down his shaft, her tongue caressed the veins that lay on the underside of his cock. She pulled back to suck up the puddle of cum pooling at his base then proceeded to lick her hands suck her fingers clean of his seed, all the while staring directly at eyes.

Hard as Valyrian Steel once again, Jon could only thank the gods for his luck.

Shiera smirked once again. “Oh, am I a god now?”

Dazed and still wanting Jon asked, “Did I say that out loud? I would not be surprised if you were.”

“I think I prefer goddess,” Shiera purred. She licked her lips clean and then crawled up his body with feline grace. Jon welcomed her embrace. Her breasts pressed against his chest. He could smell her arousal in the air. His founds found her bottom once again. Impatient he tugged aside her small clothes. This time it was Shiera who lost her composure when his cock nudged against her nether lips. Her wetness spread across his cock and they glided against each other with even greater ease.

His cockhead slid past her lips for a moment but slipped out with her opposing motion. Jon gripped her hips tighter and made to roll her on her back. Shiera’s eyes caught his before he could commit to the motion. They seemed to flash, blue then green and then red but only for an instant. It was enough. His body went limp, but he could feel every sensation.

Shiera’s eyes were heavy lidded as she herself were in a waking dream. Driven by instinct. She turned his head to the side to bare his neck. Her nose pressed against under his chin and she took a deep breath of his scent. Her lips kissed across his skin before settling on his pulse. Lightning seemed to race through his veins at such contact. Her tongue licked his flesh and then he felt the pinprick of her teeth against his neck.

The pleasure was exhilarating. His paralysis was terrifying. A war raged inside of Jon. Half of him wanted to welcome Shiera to her feast. His other half, the part of him driven by self-preservation and logic raged against the bonds she placed upon him. Jon tried to call out to her, but his lips would not move. A pleasurable haze invaded his senses and Jon decided it would be a sweet death…

Then Shiera was tugged away from him. She gave a snarl, a feral sound that awoke him from his haze. Ashara stood between them. A fire raged in her violet eyes and the scorn on her face was plain. “You would jeopardize everything for a meal?” Her voice rang loud in their small hut.

Bloodlust still drove Shiera and when Jon looked at her again her true form was revealed. Her canines had lengthened into needle like teeth and the blue and green irises of her mismatched eyes were as red as blood. _Beautiful and deadly_ , he decided.

“Shiera,” he called to her. Slowly but surely the bloodlust seeped away from her. When gone, Shiera had the grace to look abashed.

“Are you well Jon?” Ashara questioned. Without regard for his nudeness she checked his body herself. Her hands pushed aside his neck length hair to check for bites he presumed. Frustration still evident, Ashara snarled at Shiera once again. “What were you thinking?” The raven-haired beauty pulled Jon into her chest as if he were a frightened child.

“I wouldn’t have drained him,” Shiera denied. Yet she could not meet Ashara’s eyes.

Sensing a brewing argument, Jon interrupted the two before they could begin. “Enough. I am alive and unhurt. Thanks to you, Lady Ashara.” He smiled at her reassuringly. Her face softened. “And I am sure you didn’t mean to _drain_ me.” Shiera nodded measuredly but by the look on her face Jon could tell that she was not even sure if that were the truth.

“However, this is a perfect reason as to why I need more answers. You both ask me to trust you and I have taken a leap of faith in doing so but now it is time for you both to return the favor.” He kept his voice firm and affixed his face into a stern mask to properly convey that he would no longer be swayed.

The beauties shared a look. Both were clearly reluctant still to tell him more. Frustration grew in his chest.

“Jon-” Ashara began. By her tone he knew she meant to dissuade him still.

Jon stood, momentarily forgetting that he was still nude. His cock swayed and slapped against Ashara’s brow. Ignoring how much he wanted to repeat the contact, Jon stared down at the two women. “Either you start speaking or I will go join my brother and to the Seven Hells with both of you.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I figured the story would be best to show how Jon deals with Ashara, Shiera and the whole journey preceding the breaking of Riverrun's siege. Rather than starting after Jon already has a dragon. It makes him seem less OP if you can see where he began and how he came into power. 
> 
> I am considering adding Dany but she would certainly come in much later. This is a harem fic though, some of you are under the impression that adding Dany means removing one of the ladies that have already been mentioned. Tbh the only lady that has any threat of not having a sexual/romantic relationship with Jon in the tags is Sansa. I do like the thought of Jon ass fucking Catelyn Stark's daughter so that's why she is there, lol. 
> 
> A few were disappointed that Jon isn't a great fighter. I figured it is best to make Jon a bit believable here. Greywater Watch doesn't have a Master at Arms and Howland Reed is far from a great warrior. Instead of this Jon being as good as a swordsman that he is in canon, he is a better trained warg instead. However, that does not mean that Jon is useless in a fight or won't get better as the story goes on. Be patient. 
> 
> Comments and kudos are appreciated.


	4. Chapter 4

**Jon Snow**

He settled sat against the walls of their small hut, still amongst the furs and pillows that made their bedding at Lady Ashara’s urging. Still nude, Jon felt a measure of self-consciousness, but he shoved the feeling away. Shiera had done more than see his body in all its glory and there seemed little point of hiding from Lady Ashara now. The raven-haired beauty settled between he and Shiera. He could not help but smile at her protectiveness. Shiera in contrast lounged amongst the furs. She made no move to dress and Jon still drank in the sight of her body stretched long across the furs. Her long silky thighs were crossed, and she tucked a fist under chin to support her head. Pink nipples were just visible through the strands of her silver-gold hair.

Jon put Shiera to question first. “What are you?” His eyes narrowed. “And no half-answers this time. Or I walk.”

Annoyance flashed across Shiera’s face. The clearing of Ashara’s throat seemed to make her reconsider the hasty reply on her tongue. “It depends on who you ask and who you believe. There are many names for what I am and a thousand different rumors and myths as to what I am. Succubus, Bloodless, Vampyre, Demoness and perhaps a thousand others depending on the religion. Most of them evil but as a warg yourself you should know those rumors can either be overblown or the absolute truth. It all depends on the individual.”

He nodded measuredly. “Are you the same as her?” He asked Lady Ashara. She inclined her head, hiding her face from his eyes behind her raven locks.

Shiera answered for her. “Ashara is a baby compared to me. Practically harmless if that sets you at ease.”

It did not. His face turned stern. “You two have been lying to me the entire time. No, I have to question whether the purpose of our journey is a lie as well. We move in the exact opposite direction of Robb yet you two insist that at the end of this road we are on will lead to me helping him. How do I know this isn’t just some elaborate journey meant to make a meal out of me?”  

Ashara’s look of hurt at his accusation gave Jon pause. “After the time we spent together do you really think so little of me?”

He grimaced. Their departure from Greywater Watch had not been too long ago but Jon had developed a great deal of affection for both women. Ashara especially. It was hard not to enjoy their company. _Damnit I am the one who was nearly eaten. I shouldn’t feel guilty._

“Howland Reed is many, but he is no coward. If he had thought you were truly in any danger from us then he would have never let you leave with us,” Shiera added pointedly.

“I bet he did not know you wanted to drain my blood,” Jon responded dryly. His words drew a pout from the blonde.

“Do you think so lowly of me?” She asked, the tone of her voice remarkably similar to Ashara’s.

“I don’t know what to think of you.” His words were honest. From the moment he met them Jon knew their offered journey would be far from ordinary. How could it be with companions such as these? Even after his brush with death, Jon did not regret agreeing to travel with them. _I needed to leave Greywater Watch soon anyway._ Still, he would no longer follow the beauties blindly. He sighed. “What did you mean Ashara is a baby compared to you? How does that make her less of a threat?”

Shiera pushed her hair over her shoulder, baring her breasts to Jon’s eyes. _Focus._ He told himself and forced his gaze back to her mismatched orbs. A knowing smile was on her lips. “Well, I am old enough to be her grandmother as well. With my kind the older one is, the more powerful she is.”

“And the greater her weaknesses become.” Ashara was quick to add. Shiera stuck her tongue out at the other woman.

“Weaknesses?” Jon thought aloud. “Sunlight?” Shiera nodded. He thought of the old children tales Lady Jyanna used to tell he and Meera before bed. “Will you burn?”

The question drew a laugh from both of the women. Jon frowned but Ashara patted his shoulder in apology before his anger could get the best of him. “Like Shiera said there are many stories about what we are. Some truthful and others mere fantasy.”

His eyes narrowed. “What is this weakness then?”

Shiera rolled her eyes. “Best just to show you.” She rose from the furs, nude and perfect, and pulled back the thick curtains to step directly into the rays of sunlight that filtered through the window of their hut. He tensed, anticipating something violent. The change Shiera underwent was immediate. Her skin went from its lovely pale tone to a light grey. Her irises went from blue and green to entirely red while the whites were shifted to a silver that nearly matched the color of her hair. Fine claws replaced the nails on her elegant fingers while her canines were long enough to slip past her teeth. Equally beautiful and frightening, staring at Shiera was like staring at a shadowcat or some equally magnificent beast. One that had the power to rip you to shreds. _Or fuck you to death._ Jon mused.

Her change in appearance was not the only consequence. A pale smoke seemed to emanate from Shiera’s skin wherever the sunlight was most direct. By the wince on her face it appeared painful. She tolerated the sensation long enough for him to full take sight of her before rushing back to their bed of furs and the comfort of the shade. Instead of returning to her original resting place, Shiera crawled over to him to rest between his legs.  Ashara made a sound of protest but Jon was already wrapping his arms around Shiera. Where the sunlight had touched her skin felt uncomfortably hot, like a dark rock that had been left in the sun too long. Her skin however was unblemished, pale and pink now instead of grey.

“So, you don’t burn but sunlight is uncomfortable?” Jon asked.

“Painful,” Shiera mumbled against his chest. She wrapped her arms around his torso and snuggled deeper into his embrace.  

“Is the same for you?” Jon asked Ashara. He had thought it odd that Lady Ashara wore her dark robes during the day but never questioned the quirk to any great detail. _You know nothing Jon Snow._

“Less so. The older we get the more debilitating the sun becomes. For me it is a mild discomfort, I can tolerate it for minutes if need be. For Shiera it much worse.” Ashara smiled at him hesitantly. “I am sorry for the deception, Jon. I know this a lot to take in and I can understand if you have lost trust in us. Know that we have your best intention at heart.”

Her voice carried such sincerity that Jon found it impossible not to trust her. Still, he could not allow himself to be so blind. “Is sunlight your only weakness?”

Shiera smiled up at him. “Such a strange question. Are you planning on harming us, Jon?”

“I’m not the one with giant retractable fangs,” Jon countered smoothly.

Ashara laughed and leaned against his arm. “He has a point, Shiera. To answer your question, Jon, sunlight is debilitating but hardly the greatest danger to us. A well-placed sword thrust, or a swing of an axe will bring an end to us far quicker than the sun.”

Shiera traced a finger across his skin. “If they can hit us that is.” Her words carried a boast.

“Your speed,” Jon said, remembering just how quickly Shiera moved the first night he met her. Afterwards he had taken care to observe both women. Each seemed to possess a certain grace to every movement they made as if they possessed a lightness of limb not commonly found in normal people. _And now I know why._

She nodded but it was Ashara who spoke. “A bit of her speed and a bit of illusion. Physically Shiera and I are not much different than normal women… well longevity and healing factor aside… what I mean is we are far from the creatures of stories who can tear apart men with our bare hands.”

Shiera snorted. “Ashara sells us so short. Why would I need to kill men with my bare hands? Am I cave bear or some other wild beast?” Jon shook his head with a smile. “Beauty and grace and a bit of sorcery make us far more dangerous or lovely depending on your perspective. Wouldn’t you agree Jon?”

“I would,” he admitted. _Lovely is an understatement._

There was a dozen more questions on his mind begging to be asked. First, “But the stories of the blood drinking are true. By Lady Ashara’s reaction I take it they can sometimes be fatal?”

Shiera’s smile lost some of its luster. “I wouldn’t have drained you.”

Ashara made a sound of disagreement. “It looked like you were poised to drink him dry.”

Sensing an argument, Jon decided to interrupt the two beauties before their ire could escalate. “I’m assuming blood is your main form of sustenance?”

Ashara shook her head. “No. We still need food just like you Jon.”

“But blood is necessary as well.” Shiera interrupted. She shifted, rubbing her belly against his still hard cock. “I eat and drink just like you, but I need blood to keep my gifts, without it…” She trailed off, preoccupied with tracing a vein on his forearm.

Ashara rolled her eyes. “She means without blood we essentially starve. And starving bitches tend to grow desperate.” The three of them shared a laugh.

“Is that why you..” Jon paused, struggling for a word. _Attacked_ , came to mind but did not seem appropriate. He thought back to how helpless he was after Shiera committed to drinking his blood. “Overwhelmed me?”

Her eyes caught his and there was a flash of guilt in her mismatched orbs. “Another gift of mine. Why would I need to be stronger than a man when most would give themselves willingly to me? Even if it meant their death. No struggle, less of a mess. Simple.” Jon’s heart quickened at her tone. _She has killed before._

“The older we are, the more blood we need and the more powerful our urges become. Shiera would not actively try to hurt you. At least not now.” Ashara added with a small smile. “But instinct is a powerful thing to ignore. Sometimes too powerful.” The back of her hand stroked his cheek. “And you are too precious to lose.”

“It does not help that you smell like you do,” Shiera added with a touch of annoyance.

“Smell?” Jon asked. “Do I stink?’ The waters of the marsh were still to briny and filled with lizard lions from him to take a bath, but he had been sure to gather and boil water so that they could sponge themselves.

Ashara shook her head once again. “Quite the opposite. You smell fantastic to us. Especially when you a bit sweaty.”

“Yes, good enough to devour,” Shiera said with a chuckle. She ignored Ashara’s glare.

Curious, Jon asked, “Do I smell any different than other people?”

They both nodded. Shiera spoke, “Smell is a misnomer, but it is hard to describe it in terms you would understand. Our senses are more acute than yours. Attuned to find the most desirable prey. Smell is part of it but Ashara and I can almost taste the air around you. We can hear your strong heart beating in your chest, pumping warm blood through your veins. Age, health, strength and vitality, you are perfect in every category. And then there is your bloodline. The blood of Aegon the Dragon and the King’s of Winter; it makes for a tantalizing mix.”

“I don’t know whether to feel a measure of pride or fear. The way you describe it I sound like a steak on legs.”

Shiera’s nose wrinkled. “I wouldn’t invite a steak into my bed. Bad comparison.”

Ashara wrapped her arms around him. He returned her embrace, wrapping an arm around her back to grip her waist and pull her close. If he was a sane man, then he would have run as soon as he saw Shiera’s fangs. Yet, the more time he spent with these women the less he ever wanted to leave them. After a moment of comfortable silence, he asked, “And how did you become what you are?”

Ashara stiffened in his arms. Jon peered down at her, but her expression was guarded. He looked to Shiera. Her eyes were sympathetic. “After Bryden was sentenced to the Wall, Westeros had nothing left to offer. East, I went.”

“Why?” Jon questioned.

Shiera leaned back against his chest, tracing the muscles of his right thigh with her nails. “Knowledge and adventure. I am sure you have heard some tales about me. A vile sorceress that bathed in the blood of virgins?” She arched her brow in question. “A waste of blood if you were to ask me. The sorceress part was true at least. Under Aerys, the first of his name not the mad, Bryden and I were free to practice our craft freely. Maekar was grudgingly tolerant, purely out of respect for Bryden of course, but Aegon was a different sort of king. So, I bought a cabin on a ship headed out of Old Town. First to Volantis and then Slaver’s Bay, Qarth, and beyond. Where better to learn the secrets of the arcane than a city so old the name of the people who built it has been lost to time?”

“Asshai?”

She nodded. Her fingers played along his inner thigh, sending a rush of pleasure straight to his cock. Red and angry, his shaft rubbed against her muscled belly. Shiera fondled his sack and to his surprise, Ashara’s soft hand encircled his shaft. Jon hissed when she swiped her thumb over his cock head.

“Are you two trying to distract me so you don’t need to finish your story?” Jon squirmed under their combined touch.

Ashara gave him a sultry smirk that was far too similar to Shiera’s. “Is it working?” She gripped him tighter, pumping his cock.

“Nearly,” Jon growled out. He patted Shiera’s bottom. “Finish your story.”

Ashara pouted but did not release him from her pleasant grip. Shiera kissed his belly. Jon thought she would ignore him but then she looked up, her eyes playful. “I will give you the abbreviated version. Asshai is a city of wonder and horror. No act is forbidden in Asshai, no matter how decadent nor cruel. Yet even the Asshai’I do not dare tread up the river Ash. I did. Now I am what you see now. Several decades later I found this one in Qarth, at the mercy of their warlocks.” She nodded at Ashara. “I saved her by granting her the gift. Now we are here.”

Ashara bit the lobe of his ear. “You can hear the rest of the details at a later time.”

Shiera nullified any potential protest of his by taking his cock into her mouth. His hips jerked at the sudden sensation. The blonde gave a moan of approval and sucked him deeper. Ashara turned his chin so he faced her before claiming his lips.

Jon delighted in the sweet taste of her mouth. Her full lips parted for his tongue and they shared languid kisses. All the while, Shiera lay on her belly between his spread thighs, inhaling his cock. Up and down she bobbed on his throbbing length. She took him deep more often than not, his cock head bumped against the back of her mouth. The base of his cock coated in the saliva that slipped past her lips was captured by her dainty fist. She stroked him as she stroked him.

Ashara allowed him no reprieve from the pleasure. Her kisses turned from soft and exploratory to intense and demanding. She dragged his bottom lip between her teeth while her hands roamed across his nude body. Jon swallowed her pleased moans when her fingers traced across his abdomen.

His own hands were far from idle. He fondled Ashara’s voluptuous body through her robes. Unsatisfied with just that, Jon worked to strip her.

She chuckled at his impatience. Jon nearly voiced a protest when she pulled away from his lips. “Let me help you.” Smooth olive skin was revealed to his eyes, along with full breasts capped with light brown nipples. Her belly was flat, her thighs supple and thick. A dark thatch of fur was between her succulent legs. His desire must have been evident for Ashara’s smile grew wide.

The raven-haired beauty stood so he could inspect the entirety of her form. Where Shiera may have been made as a living avatar for lust and sex, Ashara was surely an avatar of fertility. Her hips were wideset, her breasts full and round and heavy, though they hung high on her chest. Ashara turned so he could admire her luscious backside. Throwing her long black locks over one shoulder she flexed her calves to stand on the balls of her feet while arching her spine.

The curve of her ass was mouthwatering. Wide, round cheeks greeted his eyes. Ashara was muscled enough that he could see no hint of fat but soft enough that her bottom jiggled when she sat back on her heels.

Shiera suddenly dominated his attention as his cock breeched the sleeve of her throat. He grunted when she swallowed the entirety of him to nuzzle her nose in his pubic hairs. With a lewd slurp she pulled back halfway up shaft before plunging down in a single motion to swallow him entirely once again. His hips jerked in surprise but that only seemed to embolden Shiera. She sucked and slurped his cock with wild abandon.

His hands found her silky silver-gold locks, caressing her scalp as she pleasured him. Periodically, Shiera would look up at him with loving bedroom eyes.

Ashara settled next to him once again, her nude body flush against his. A hand of hers found Shiera’s locks as well but instead of holding the strands as Jon did, his raven-haired lover tugged on Shiera’s long hair to pull her off his cock. “Don’t finish him too soon, greedy,” Ashara said playfully.

Lips slick and swollen, Shiera pouted. “He is young, I am sure he can go again.” Her hand took up where her mouth left off, stroking his slick shaft with a firm grip. “I’m correct aren’t I, Jon?” 

At this point Jon would have likely agreed to anything. He nodded his head. Appeased, Shiera gave Ashara a triumphant look. Instead of inhaling his cock once again, Shiera shared another look with Ashara. Wordlessly both women tugged on his wrists, guiding him from leaning against the wall to laying in the middle of their nest of furs. Ashara bent down to kiss him, obscuring his view of Shiera. Jon caressed her curvy body. He palmed her breasts, his thumbs brushed over her erect nipples. The raven-haired beauty was far from shy in instructing him on how to touch her.

She guided his hands to the undersides of her full breasts, had him lightly pinch her nipples till they were nearly as hard as his cock. Soon she was feeding him her breasts and Jon suckled from her mounds as an infant would its mother’s. Her violet eyes peered down at him, full of affection. Heat rose to his face as shameful thoughts came to the forefront of his mind. He could not ignore that Ashara was the same age as his mother would be had she lived. The way Ashara cradled his head and stroked his hair only added fuel to his taboo thoughts. If possible, his cock stiffened further.

“Good boy,” Ashara whispered to him with a mischievous smile as if she knew his truths. Her laughing purple eyes were unnaturally bright.

Shiera was far from idle. Her nails teased his cock, tracing the veins. Her touch was feather light and fleeting. Hard as Valyrian steel, Jon bucked his hips. Ashara pulled her breasts away from his lips so they could watch Shiera mount his hips. With a smile, the beautiful woman gripped his cock. Jon thought she would tease him; such was her nature but the sinfully beautiful chewed her lip and angled his turgid cock into her tight pussy. She dropped her hips, taking him inside of her inch by inch. They both gasped when she bottomed out. “A virgin no longer,” Shiera said with a grin. She rolled her hips, testing the feel of him inside of her.

“Slow,” Jon pleaded. Already he could feel the heat churning in his balls. He had cum once to Shiera’s skilled hands, but nothing could have prepared him for the sensation of being inside of her. Even her lovely mouth could not compare to the sheer warmth of her cunt nor how each roll of her hips brought a clench of her core that drove him nearly mad. Best of all, was the sight of Shiera. Her full tear-dropped shaped breasts bounced and heaved with each breath she took. Her eyes were both playful and dominating. The woman very well knew the effect she had on him. Knew that her pussy would be filled with his seed anytime she wished.

“How does finally being inside a woman feel, Jon Snow? Or should I call you Daemon? You are a man now, not a boy.” Her smile was imperious. Reveling in the power she had over him, Shiera braced her hands against his stomach and pumped her hips. Her bottom clapped against his hips as she rode him.

“Fuck!” Jon moaned and then Ashara was kissing him once again. The combination of their combined affections was nearly too much to endure yet he did his best to rise to the challenge. He caressed Ashara’s body, stroking the lines of her back before finding her full bottom. Roughly kneading her cheeks, he tried to commit the feel of her body to memory. Ashara let out a pleasant gasp when he spread her cheeks.

The heady smell of female arousal filled their hall. Shiera dropped her wet pussy on his cock, over and over again. Her walls clenched and fluttered around him and Shiera cried out. Her nails bit into his chest. Jon grit his teeth and clenched the muscles behind his cock, desperate not to spill.

Inspired by the pleasure Shiera’s mouth brought him, Jon palmed Ashara’s buttocks and hauled her atop him. Her laughter descended into a gasp of surprise when he pulled her up his chest to straddle his mouth. Violet eyes stared down at him, filled with lust.

“Naughty boy,” Ashara scolded playfully. She dropped her hips, dragging her wet cunt across his lips and chin. He breathed in deep, delighting in the direct smell of her arousal. “Oooh,” she groaned as his tongue split her nether lips. With a long lap, Jon was introduced to the succulent taste of her juices.

_More._ His grip on Ashara’s wide bottom tightened. He held her in place over his mouth, both pleasuring his lover and sating his thirst. She squirmed atop of him, grinding her cunt against his lips and tongue.

“Higher,” Ashara commanded. Before he could interpret the order, she shifted. Rather than his tongue splitting her lips, she directed it to the button just above her core. “Suck my clit,” her words were half an order and half a plea. Jon gently sucked on the nub and was both surprised and delighted by the shivers of pleasure that reverberated throughout her body.

From then on, the women all but used Jon’s body to chase their pleasure. Ashara gently rode his face, pausing every so often so he could tongue between her lips or suck her clit. Despite his inexperience, Jon’s ministrations seemed to bring her great pleasure. She would quiver atop his face, crying out in passion as her juices became a flood.

Shiera rode him roughly. She rolled her hips, taking him deep so his tip brushed the very ends of her cunt before rising and falling in a demanding rhythm. Every so often she would slow to tease her clit with her fingers before starting once again.

Jon’s only saving grace from not filling her immediately was his focus on Ashara’s pleasure. Soon however, Ashara rolled of his face, sated and grateful. Regardless of her juices coating his face, she kissed him deeply. She showed no reservation in tasting herself and Jon was left breathless when their lips finally parted.

“You’re a natural at that.” She grinned at him. The affection in her eyes brought a warmth to his chest.

Shiera interrupted by clenching hard around his cock. She leaned forward as she slapped her hips down. Jon met her lips with his own, not surprised in the slightest when her sharp fangs nicked his lips, drawing blood.

“Fill me up,” Shiera demanded before sucking on his injured lip. Fully at her mercy, Jon could not last long. He gripped her hips and thrust upwards as his balls emptied. Shiera’s kisses turned softer as he filled her. She mewled against his lips, like a pleased kitten.

“Perfect,” she muttered. Jon shuddered beneath her as his cock unloaded heavy spurts of cum into her slick cunt. Her walls milked him, greedily pumping his shaft until he had nothing left to give.

She lay against his chest, sucking on his injured lip till the wound dried. Ashara nuzzled her nose into his neck. She took a deep whiff of his scent, kissing his pulse point. To his surprise, Ashara nipped at his collarbone. The resulting wound was small, but she drank the blood that welled from it with an almost desperate haste.

Drained, Jon struggled to keep his eyes open. Shiera’s eyes were heavy as well. She lifted off him, cupping a hand against her cunt so his seed could not escape. The women settled on either side of him. Her curled an arm around each of their shoulders, holding them close. Ashara stroked his face and laid a chaste kiss on his lips. “Sleep Jon.” That he did.

When he woke the sun had fled, plunging the hall into darkness. Jon’s pupils widened but he could only discern shapes in the dark rather than the fine details.

“You’re finally awake,” Ashara purred.

“You can see me?” Jon questioned.

Ashara laughed lightly. “Yes. One of the perks of being what I am is excellent night vision.” She tweaked his nose. “You’re cute when you sleep.”

Jon lifted a brow. “Cute?” He moved quickly and rolled Ashara on her back. Rather than fight him, she laughed beneath him. Her thighs spread in welcome.

“Yes cute,” Ashara said between bouts of laughter. “Even cuter now.” She gripped his arms and used the leverage to lift herself so she could kiss him. Her arms wrapped around his back to pull their torsos flush together. Jon relaxed his arms so that he rested on his elbows atop Ashara.

Jon slipped his tongue past Ashara’s full lips, tasting her sweet mouth. It did not take his cock long to grow hard, pressed flush against Ashara’s body. She felt his need for her and angled her hips, so his cock rubbed against her slick. They shared a gasp as their sexes came together. He pressed his hips down, but the angle was off. Rather than sink inside of her, his cock glanced off her clit. When he lifted his hips, Ashara reached down to help. She angled his cock so he could sink inside of her in one smooth motion.

“Gods you’re beautiful,” Jon said as he bottomed out.

Ashara chuckled. “You can’t even see me.” Her thighs settled around his hips, opening her body so he could slide in deeper.

“I have not forgotten what you look like.” He slid out an inch or more before plunging forward. “Not in the slightest.” Ashara cried out as he fucked her. Her hands found his back and ass, digging her nails into his skin. Jon tilted her neck to the side, kissing her neck. Filled with passion for the beautiful woman beneath them, Jon kept her pinned. Their hips danced and crashed together. Ashara was both his lover and his guide, directing him when needed and praising him when correctly applied her instruction. She joined him in oblivion as he coated her walls white.

Their passion did not end there. Shiera returned to their sleeping area with a knowing smile and entirely without clothes.  Come that morning, Jon had been in his lovers half a dozen times. His cock was sore and almost useless, but his mind was clear.  

Time on their crannog passed quickly. Shiera and Ashara kept him far from idle. Jon spent much of the day steering the crannog or drilling with his spear. Shiera had added, rather cryptically, that Jon would be best served best served to be in top martial form for their journey. So, everyday he woke and trained for more than hour through spear forms. During bouts of inactivity, Jon dedicated himself to vigorous exercise.

Ashara would join him on the deck, her skin protected from the sun’s rays by her hood and dark robes. She was a fountain of cheer and encouragement, pushing him to test his body’s limits. At the end of the day, Jon’s muscles would ache from the exertion, his legs made unsteady from squats, lunges, and a variety of hops and skips. His back and arms burned from a mix of press ups, dips, weighted lifts and pull ups done on branches that hung over the waters. Shiera and Ashara would ease his discomfort at night with massages that led to an almost dizzying haze of pleasure. He even sparred regularly with Shiera when the sun set below the horizon. While she was untrained and uninterested in weapons, the woman had learned to defend herself in her long years of unnatural youth. So much so that she was incredibly skilled in unarmed combat. Paired with her supernatural reflexes, Shiera was more than a match for Jon even with his superior strength. Humbled, Jon strived for both victory and self-improvement.

Their journey by water ended nearly a month after their departure from Greywater Watch. They traded their crannog for three mares and an ox to carry the giant chest the ladies brought with them. While Ashara provided the coin for the exchange, Jon did the speaking. His silver-gold hair made him immediately recognizable as Lord Reed’s ward while both ladies donned their masks due to their arrival at daylight. He did his best to ease the villager’s wariness.

“Where to?” Jon asked as he mounted his garron. It was a slim spotted mare with a gentle temperament. Tied to the horse’s saddle were the entirety of his worldly possessions. The rest he had gifted to the residents of Greywater.

“We make for the coast. There is a village and ferry on the bite we can charter to the sisters,” Shiera responded. Her lacquered mask shone bright in the sunlight. Her hair was hidden by its veil. Ashara was dressed the same, even their hands were gloved. In contrast, Jon wore a simple pair of shorts and shirt made of hemp with a wide straw hat atop his head to protect him from the sun and straw sandals held to his feet by a cloth thong.

“And then?” Jon questioned. Despite their increased familiarity, the women were still not entirely forthcoming with information nor their purpose and intentions. Shiera shared more details of her life prior and after the Blackfyre rebellions with him. He learned more details of Bloodraven from her than any book about the man could possibly match. She never voiced it, but Jon was sure the two of them had been wildly in love. Her journey from Volantis to the east was shared with him. He was not entirely sure she was serious in her tale of a slave ship adjacent to her own vessel being pulled down to watery grave by a kraken nonetheless when they were sailing near the Smoking Sea. Her time in Asshai however remained a great mystery to him. Ashara was similarly both selectively forthcoming and secretive.  Treated to a great deal of stories about her older brother, Jon came to know Ser Arthur Dayne. A swordsman nearly without peer, Rhaegar Targaryen’s greatest friend and ally, and briefly Jon’s own Kingsguard after the death of Mad King Aerys and Prince Rhaegar. Yet details concerning her time in Qarth or even the reason as to why she faked her death and abandoned Westeros remained a mystery.

“To help your brother we must go North,” Ashara replied. The trail they were on was wide enough for the three of them to ride side by side. Marshland gave way for wind swept plains dotted by drying bogs that could swallow man and horse if one was not careful. Skinny, crooked trees dotted the landscape and the wind carried the scent of the Sea. “By Sea is the quickest way to White Harbor and Sisterton is the only major port where we can find a ship.”

Jon nodded measuredly. _White Harbor,_ he thought. _What do we need in White Harbor?_ The city was the largest settlement in the North, ruled by the Manderlys who had undoubtably sent men to answer Robb’s call to war. He could not think of anything of import that could be found in the city, save for the port of the city itself. “White harbor is not our final destination?” Jon questioned, already knowing the answer.

Shiera and Ashara shared a look. “You are a vary inquisitive man, Jon Snow. I suppose its too much to ask for you to trust us?” Shiera asked.

Jon scowled. “I do trust you both, but I don’t like being left in the dark. I’ve trusted you two enough to believe that going in the exact opposite direction of Robb’s war will somehow help him win it. I’ve trusted you two enough to let you both drink my blood, trusting that you won’t drain me dry. At least trust me with something.”

Ashara sighed. Her shoulders dipped. “He deserves to know, Shiera.” Even with the mask she bore, Jon could discern Shiera’s disapproval. He kept his resolve firm and Shiera finally relented.

“Very well.” She commanded her mount to a halt and swung from her saddle, landing lightly on her feet. Their ox was led by a rope tied to her horse and the beast stopped as well. Curious, Jon dropped from his own horse and watched as Shiera unbuckled the heavy chest from the ox’s back. It dropped to the ground with a thud, its weight causing it to sink slightly into the mud.

Ashara stood by Jon’s side and pulled him closer as Shiera reached into the chest. Her hands came back clutching a dark horn. It was massive, more than six feet long, gleaming black and banded by red gold and smoky steel. Belatedly Jon realized the steel bands were in fact Valyrian Steel. Runes and glyphs were etched into the metal, twisted markings that made little sense to his eyes. They seemed to shift and swirl as he tried to discern their end and beginning. The surface of the horn was polished to a sheen and reflective though the reflections were twisted somehow. Jon stared at his reflection in wonder. Horns sprouted from his head and shadowy wings emerged from his back. Most sinister of all were his eyes. Glowing black bloodstones.

“What is it?” Jon questioned. Shiera offered him the horn and he took it from her gingerly, aware of its priceless value. It was warm to the touch as if it had emerged from some pyre minutes prior.

“Dragonbinder,” Ashara answered. She traced the runes across one of its gold bindings. “A hellhorn forged by the sorcerers of Old Valyria.”

Jon took a deep breath at the implication.

Shiera laid a hand on his shoulder. “Ashara liberated Qarth of its stolen treasure and for that she earned their eternal enmity. Now you know the reason for our secrecy. Only the most powerful of the Dragonlords had such horns in their possession, in the wrong hands it could cause untold calamity.”

Jon stared at his twisted reflection. “What dragons can this horn bind? They are all dead.”

“No, not all of them,” Ashara said. He stared at her, wondering if she took him for a fool.

“The Targaryens lost them all in the Dance. I know my history,” Jon protested.

“Our ancestors bred their dragons for war and fight and die in war they did. Save for the dragon that never submitted to a dragonlord.” Shiera’s voice turned playful. “I believe his name was Cannibal.”

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Hope you all enjoyed it! Obviously this fic is a harem fic so there will be a heavy dose of smut but the plot should remain compelling as well. 
> 
>  
> 
> Comments and kudos are appreciated.


	5. Chapter 5

**Jon Snow**

He drove his spear through the pirate’s throat. Yanking the weapon back, a gush of blood spilled across the deck before Jon kicked the body backward. Overboard it went, crashing into the black water below. Beneath his feet the deck rose and dipped at the mercy of the winter seas. The sky offered no reprieve and a light misting of cold rain reduced their visibility.

Another pirate sought to clamber over the railing. Jon stabbed forward, a deflection from his cutlass saved the pirate’s eye from being skewered but Jon followed with another swift thrust, burying the tip of the blade in his shoulder. The man seemed to hardly feel the pain, driving himself further onto the spear’s tip while swinging wildly with his sword. Had Jon not been wearing armored gauntlets, he would have lost a finger. Instead, the sword scrapped up the steel.

Jon pressed with his strength, driving the man backward and the spear deeper. The blood that splattered on the deck was quickly washed away by the spray of the waves and fall of rain. Up against the railing the man panicked and abandoned his weapon to grip the spear haft. His grimaced reveal a row of bloodstained teeth. A groan left his lips. “Please no.”

Ignoring the man’s pleas, Jon grit his teeth. In the corner of his eye, he could see another pirate clamber over the rail. Short of men, with the crew occupied with invaders from both the stern and bow, the ax-wielding pirate was free to wreak havoc. Acting preemptively, Jon abandoned the spear and charged the ax-wielding pirate.

He swung his weapon, but Jon ducked under it and answered with an armored fist to the ribs. Jon caught the wrist of his ax-wielding hand and the two wrestled for control. Their struggle ended when Jon headbutted the pirate with his bucket helm. The man’s mouth exploded with a well of teeth and blood. Jon ripped his dagger from his belt and drove it into the pirate’s heart.

A dagger whistled by his ear, followed by the last breath of a dying man. Jon whipped his head around and saw the robed form of Shiera. Hooded, her mask was absent revealing the terrible beauty below. Anger swirled in her red eyes. The tips of her fangs appeared just beyond her lips. Behind him, the pirate he had impaled, fell dead to the deck, a dragonbone dagger through his eye.

Jon nodded at her in thanks and picked up his discarded spear. Around them, the battle raged. Their attackers had been spotted on the horizon at dawn. At first, the captain had mistaken them for an Ibbenese wailing vessel and paid them little heed. That had been a mistake.

The Ibbense wailing ship sailed at a greater speed than their smaller ship. The pirates swarmed their vessel from all sides by way of skiffs and grappling hooks. Pinned under a hail of bolts from the pirate vessel’s scorpions, the crew had been slow to respond to the attack. Now their ship floundered in the waves while they desperately tried to repel the boarding party.

“Where’s the captain?!” A sailor yelled over the clang of battle and crash of the sea against the hull. The cut on his brow bled profusely, staining his brown beard black and red. There were seven men including Jon at the prow of the ship. There had been twelve at the beginning, two had died to scorpion bolts, the others from arrows loosed by the pirates before the churning of the waves turned the prow of their ship out of range the pirate’s ranged weapons.

More pirates poured forth from the stern of their ship, their weapons stained from the blood of the crew. Wishing Ghost was beside him, Jon moved to join the battle again. Shiera halted him with a hand on his shoulder. “This ship is nearly overrun. It soon will be. We need to go.”

His face twisted in confusion. “Go? Go where? We’re in the middle of the fucking sea. We need to fight.”

Shiera did not release him. “This fight is not important enough to die over. When these pirates win, they will kill every man on board and rape every woman. You are too important to die here.”

He wanted to argue with her but could not against her logic. Still, they were not the only passengers on board. Jon had felt truly a fool when they arrived in Sisterton. While he had been entirely ignorant of the War of Five Kings, the rest of the world had not been. Streams of refugees escaping the bloodshed found in the Riverlands had traveled up the Kingsroad to the coast and then on to the ferry to Sisterton. Over the past few months, hundreds if not thousands of Riverlanders had traded the calamity of the Riverlands for the peace of the North. Jon, Shiera and Ashara had chartered a ship carrying more than fifty smallfolk from Sisterton to White Harbor. The women and the boys too young and too old to fight were below deck in the hold. Jon knew none of them, yet it still felt wrong abandoning them to their fate.

“They will die anyway. It is your decision if you want to join them.” Shiera’s voice was harsh.

Jon clenched his fist. “We need to find Ashara.”

“She’ll be guarding the horn. We need to move quickly and get out of here while we still can.” From prow to stern, the fight on the deck was fierce. Blood and seawater slickened the wood and dying men from both sides were drawing their last breaths. As if nature was having a laugh, the rain had stopped, and patches of blue sky were now visible amongst the grey. _At least we will not need to paddle our way through a storm._ It was a small victory.

They picked their way carefully through the carnage, avoiding the pockets of fighting. The truth of Shiera’s words was revealed to Jon now that he had a degree of separation. Once on the deck, the pirates were far more coordinated than the sailors. Better equipped as well.

“Focus,” Shiera whispered into his ear as he fixated on a pirate slicing gold teeth out of a still struggling sailor’s mouth. Jon recognized the rat brown hair of the sailor. Andrew was his name… or had been his name. Andrew Snowden. The sailor had an unhealthy obsession with Ashara, prone to long interrupted stares as well as palming his cock openly on the deck when Ashara passed by. Not even his fellow crewmates could avert his perversion. Jon struggled to find sympathy for the strange man in his gruesome fate but found he could not. He turned his head away.

Their path into the lower decks of the ship was mercifully unimpeded. Shiera proved correct once again though the black-haired beauty still surprised her companion. Instead of barricading herself in their cabin as they had expected, Ashara stood vigil over the entrance to the hold. Like Shiera, Ashara’s fangs were extended. Her lips were bloodstained and her laughing purple eyes were wild with bloodlust.

Their footsteps against the stars drew a series of whimpers and cries from the passengers hidden in the shadow of the hull. Guilt twisted in Jon’s chest. Blind against the darkness, Jon could not discern their features, but he remembered a few of the faces who had boarded the boat in Sisterton. His shirt of ringmail suddenly felt heavy.

“Where’s the chest?” Shiera questioned.

“Here,” Ashara kicked just behind the doorway. The sound of her boot hitting wood echoed in the hull along with the rattle of its heavy locks and chains.

“Grab it, Jon. We need to leave now.” Jon shared a look with Ashara. Her lips thinned.

“Leave? Where do you think we can go? We are in the middle of the ocean. We should help them fight.” The raven-haired beauty curled her palms into fists to emphasize her point. Jon felt his heart stir at the sight.

Shiera’s gaze turned feral. In less than a moment, she had Ashara pressed against the wall, hand wrapped around her throat. Ashara struggled fruitlessly. “Have you forgotten why I changed you? Have you forgotten our purpose? Do you think I’d risk Jon for fucking meat? Think with your head, not your heart. They’re already dead or will be made slaves. Nothing we can do about it.”

“Shiera, release her,” Jon ordered. The blonde turned her crimson gaze to him. Rather than flinch, Jon stepped closer. He held his spear before him, his threat clear. She released Ashara’s throat and stepped away from the raven-haired woman. Jon gently gripped Ashara’s chin so he could inspect her neck. A deep breath was needed to calm his anger. “You will not do that again.” He ordered.

Shiera snorted. “We don’t have time for this. Grab the chest so we can leave before ten of them come barreling down the stairs.”

Jon continued to glower at her. “Perhaps you didn’t hear me.”

Shiera’s gaze sharpened. Flashing a deep crimson as if she wanted to test the issue but Jon stood firm. Ashara observed their standoff quietly, she squeezed Jon’s fingers in support. Their blonde companion’s jaw tensed and then released. Finally, she relented. “Fine.”

The commotion of the two vampires (as Jon had taken to calling them) argument had set the passengers into a panic. He heard a scuffle of feet against the wood as the shadowy figures scrambled away from him. With a heave, he lifted the chest over his shoulder. Ashara passed his spear to Shiera who took point while she took the dagger from Jon’s belt.

He did not look back at the hold as they ascended the stairs, but the whimpers and cries were impossible to ignore.

They emerged from the dim of the hold to the sounds of muted fighting. Shiera led with his spear with Ashara following close behind, dagger in hand. Jon brought up the rear. He saw Shiera flinch from the bright sun, now shining unimpeded from a great break in the clouds. She paused to pull her hood tighter across her face.

“We need to make for the skiff,” Shiera whispered. They nodded in response. The captain maintained a small vessel with a single sail docked at the starboard side of the ship near the aft. A blood slicked deck was their walkway. Littered with arrows and a few dead sailors. The mess of sailing equipment and general disarray of the ship provided them the cover needed to sneak to the back of the deck.

Jon carefully lowered the chest into the boat. Ashara was first to climb aboard while Shiera lingered.

“Get in the boat, I’ll lower it,” he said.

She shook her head. “Enough of the bravado. You know damn well that it is a lot harder to kill me than you. Get in the boat.”

“I’m the one wearing armor,” Jon began but the sudden flight of an arrow smashing against his chainmail shirt interrupted him. He yanked the spear from Shiera’s grip and sent it soaring at the attacking pirate. The spear pierced the man’s belly before he could loose another arrow. His grip slipped, and the arrow sailed wide.  

The dying man screamed, “Help! They’re escaping! Help me!”

“Get in the boat, Jon,” Shiera hissed but he ignored her. He rushed over and yanked the spear from the dying pirate’s belly. Not a second too soon for he had to jerk away from the ax aimed at his face. The cheek plating of his open-faced helm saved him from injury but the blow of the ax-head against his helm rattled his teeth.

Jon faltered backward. The shaft of his spear caught the swing of the ax. He bashed the pirate’s shins with the butt of his spear to create distance, to no avail. A gasp of pain escaped his lips when the pirate answered with a vicious swing that bit into his side. The shirt of ringmail and arming shirt he wore beneath slowed the blow, but it robbed him of his breath.

Stumbling backward, Jon fell knocking over a barrel of salted fish. The ax struck again, colliding with his steel vambraces when he brought his forearm up in defense. Silently Jon thanked his two companions for insisting he was fitted for armor before they left port. He rolled to his feet and stabbed forward with his spear before the pirate could pursue with his ax. It was a weak thrust and the pirate parried it with ease, but it gave Jon the distance he needed.

Movement at his peripheral alerted him to the arrival of more pirates. Jon jerked his spear to the side halting a flank. Five pirates stood in opposition. They forced him backwards as they advanced, all were wary of his bloodied spear tip.  

Impatient, a pirate jumped forward to hack at his side. Jon anticipated the action and stabbed at the pirate’s thigh. He yanked the spear back and brought it down in a wild slash that left an ugly ride line across another pirate’s cheek.

“You fucking cunt!” They cursed and screamed at him. Jon did his best to ignore their vitriol. Focusing instead on their movements. Yet beneath all the noise, they made he could hear the cries of women and children.

The pirates noticed his scowl. “Your sister under there?”

“How bout your mum?” Another one taunted. He flashed a row of cracked teeth.

“Gunna fuck em till their dead.”

Before Jon could react, he felt a hand on his shoulder and a sharp tug on his cloak.

“Next time I tell you to do something, do it!” Shiera yelled, right before she shoved him overboard.

The cold sea swallowed him whole. Jon sank like a brick. Saltwater stung his eyes, saturated his cloak, soaked his arming shirt. The protective layer of steel he wore made swimming all but impossible. It seemed the more Jon fought to reach the surface, the faster he sank. He clawed at the water as seawater was rushed down his throat into his lungs.

The spear that had been a gift from his father, slipped from his grip. A need to breath made him ignore the rapidly sinking weapon. Jon released one last desperate gasp before the darkness swallowed him.

Lord Reed had told him of a Skinchanger’s second life. Those who walked the earth in skins other than their own could live again, one last time. The knowledge provided Jon with a small measure of comfort. He knew when his time came that if Ghost still walked the earth then they would end their lives as one. Still, he had not expected his time to come so soon. Jon was not ready to die.

For the briefest moment, Jon was in several places at once. Life and consciousness were bright stars in the pitch black of death. He felt the collective curiosity of a pod of whales drawn to the commotion made by the battle, the ravenous hunger of circling sea birds eager to feed on dead flesh, and the amusement of a cackling crow perched on it's master’s shoulder.

The next moment the wind whistled through the trees to ruffle his white fur. A light rain dampened the earth beneath his paws. It turned to mud as he kneaded the ground. Beside him, his pack-sister loosed a mournful howl. Their little cousins joined their cries to hers and half a hundred howls echoed across the flooded hills of the Riverlands.

Ghost allowed Nymeria to lick away the deer’s blood from his muzzle. Her smaller body rubbed against his own. Their small cousins watched warily. A few of the males growled at their closeness. The white wolf did not need to make a sound to quell their protests. Baring his teeth was sufficient.

The moment between him and his sister was abruptly ripped away. Jon awoke to fierce purple eyes staring down at him. They filled with tears and relief. His chest burned. As he coughed, seawater poured from his throat. Ashara slapped his back when he doubled over, aiding the purge of water from his lungs.

Jon shivered as the cold set into his bones. Torso bare and bruised, he struggled to gather his bearings. The chainmail and arming shirt he wore had been removed. His skin was all gooseflesh, cold and clammy but he felt alive. Sore but alive and rapidly rising to clarity of mind.

“You saved me,” Jon whispered to Ashara with reverence. She smiled at him and pulled him into a tight hug. Her soaked robe clung to her like a second layer of skin. She smelled of the sea, further proof of her rescue. Jon ran his hands over her body, both to remind himself that he had hands not paws and to memorize the feel of the beautiful woman before him.

The cloud layer had peeled back even further, and the gloom of the day was replaced by a bright sun. Their little ship rocked beneath them, turning in the churning sea. Had he not spent much of his life on water, Jon was sure he would be sick. In the distance, their ferry sat atop the waves. Beside it was the whaling vessel. Twice the size of the ferry with a grey hull and crimson sails slashed with black. The boats were tied together now. Ladders led from the top deck of the whaling ship to the ferry. _We lost._ His very first battle and he had lost. _Badly._ “They did not come after us?”

Ashara shook her head. “They think you are dead and did not see me dive in the water after you.”

“I was dead,” Jon whispered. Ashara laid a gloved hand atop his chest. “Not anymore.” She cupped the back of his head and pulled him into a deep kiss. Jon’s lips parted for her tongue and for a moment all the pain in his body was forgotten. The raven-haired beauty nuzzled his neck when they parted. Her nose brushed his pulse point before her lips pressed against it. “I just need a taste.”

Jon tilted his head and soon after her fangs pierced his skin. She sucked at his neck for a few seconds before licking his wound closed. A shudder worked through his body and despite his condition, his cock stiffened. He ignored the reaction, instead, Jon turned his gaze back towards the ferry. “Shiera is still there?”

Ashara grimaced. “If she jumped after you, they would have followed.”

“We cannot leave her,” Jon insisted.

Ashara tried to reason with him. “She would want us to. We have the horn with us, Jon. Shiera would call that more important.” Ashara’s words were gentle but he could not help but glare at her.

“I don’t care what Shiera wants or what she would do. I am not leaving her.” He knew she would be weakened considerably by the sunlight, even if her skin remained covered. _What will they do to her if they discover what she is?_ Jon gritted his teeth as pain erupted at his side. Ashara released his still bleeding the wound. Around the ax wound, the skin had turned black and blue. Jon touched it gingerly. Fortunately, his ribs felt whole but the whole area burned. The numbness that followed a short death was quickly fading.

“How?” Ashara’s brow arched. “Will you fight off an entire ship by yourself? Did you forget how I just brought you back from the dead.”

“You won’t help me?”

Ashara frowned. “I will not allow you to risk your life for an impossible task.”

Jon stared directly into her haunting violet eyes. “Impossible no. This is necessary.” Lady Ashara stared at him as if he was mad. _Perhaps I am._ He stood, maintaining his balance with a careful step forward. “If I fall, try to catch me,” He told his companion before probing outwards with his consciousness. Searching.

The pod of whales had not moved far from where he remembered. There were more of them than he expected. Fifteen in total. Seven males and eight females. Beneath the waves, they hunted a school of tuna. Their intelligence was made obvious by their coordination of the hunt. The whales communicated in a high-pitched series of sounds, akin to whistles, that formed a language entirely alien to his mind. They recoiled from his mental probing, naturally wary of his imposing presence. Jon persisted. It was far easier to command a beast when in visible range. Near a hundred feet beneath the surface and several hundred yards from the boat, extending his will over such a distance came at a cost to his body. He gritted his teeth and curled his fingers into fists.

The whales’ alarm grew, and they abandoned the hunt. Jon knew he had to act quickly before they could flee. He struck, seeking to dominate not negotiate. It was a brute force method, lacking any sort of elegance. The largest male was his target, the bull of their pod.

Such a shift in perspective was disorienting. He went from the size of a man to a body near the length of their ferry. Beneath his blubber, massive muscles flexed and seized in panic. Jon tried to calm the animal’s panic even as he extended his will to assume control over the massive body.

His body was on fire. Certain skins were simple to slip into, even for beginners. A dog was like a boot, comfortable and familiar. The same could be said of a horse. Domestication made beasts a measure more comfortable to a human’s touch, even one not bound in the physical world. Wolves were more clever creatures than most, Ghost especially. One could never truly master such an animal without maintaining its respect. This whale was intelligent as Ghost, perhaps even more so with a mind entirely alien and hostile to Jon’s presence.

Their struggle ended in minutes. The whale was a proud and powerful creature, but the blood of the Kings of Winter flowed through Jon’s veins. There were few bloodlines more powerful than his own and he had trained under Howland Reed, a student of the reclusive Order of the Green Men. With their struggle ended, Jon reassured the creature that he meant it no harm.

_You need a name. Tilikum._ He decided, named after the smith at Sisterton that had sold Jon his armor. The beast offered no opinion on the matter. Gradually he ceded control to the massive creature while he belayed his orders. It was far easier to allow the animal to control its motor function while he provided direction than to maintain entire control. It would take months to master the spotted whale’s movements and he would never have the same degree of dexterity as the whale itself.

Jon conveyed his orders to the whale and Tilikum translated the commands to his pod. He needed all of them.

He tightened his grip on the bull whale as the entire pod dove. They raced under the ferry and the whaling ship. Then Jon and Tilikum led the ascent. The whales moved into formation, more than a thousand tons at full sprint. They slammed into the hull of the whaling ship with a thunderous crash. Their reinforced skulls worked like battering rams and even from his great distance, Jon could hear the wood of the ship split with his human ears.

The startled wails of the sailors of the pirates set the whales to excitement. They were hunters just as much as men. Only blood was a more powerful agent than fear. Blood they would soon have.

From his leash he had on the whale, Jon learned the animal lacked a sense of smell. Instead, the whale released a series of low-frequency sounds that created a three-dimensional image of its surroundings. A truly superior sense. From the whale, Jon could discern the weak points that had been created in the bottom of the hull. Already water began to seep in through cracks, the pressure slowly forcing the wood to split.

His whales attacked again and again. Under his direction they targeted the weak points in the hull, ripping away planks of wood with their sharp teeth. The seawater forced its way into the bottom decks of the whaling vessel. The first of the panicked crew were sucked out into the sea. He saw the whales hesitate as they came upon the humans desperately seeking the surface.

_They don’t have a taste for human flesh._ Jon realized. There was a trace of fear that surged through the creatures as the humans swam by them, the swiftest of the pirates breaching the surface. _Twenty tons and they are afraid of us._ Had it been anyone else, Jon may have let them live. Floundering in the middle of the cold ocean was not a pleasant fate but it did leave for the possibility of salvation. However, these men made a living off the suffering of others. Why should he grant them mercy if it was not in them to do so?

How many women had they raped? How many men had they killed? How many more had been sold into slavery? His right fist clenched and his control of Tilikum tightened. The massive whale crashed into three tightly grouped pirates from below. Tilikum’s entire body erupted from the water, a display of savage grace and power, the men were tossed more than sixty feet into the air. When their bodies hit the water, they exploded under the force of impact.

A spray of red interrupted the black and blue of the sea. The other whales followed Tilikum’s lead. Bones broke under the power of the whales’ teeth and flesh was torn asunder. The whaling vessel moaned and creaked as it sank. Jon watched from Tilikum’s eyes as those aboard the sinking vessel climbed over each other to escape from the rising water. Such an effort was futile. He would let none of them live.

Jon directed Tilikum towards he and Ashara as the other whales were set to slaughter. His body slumped into Ashara’s arms; the power needed to stand long since having left him. She had her arms wrapped around his torso and pressed her lips to his brow.

“You’re back,” she whispered. The concern in her voice was clear.

Jon smiled tiredly. “Worried about me?”

Ashara’s fingers traced his chest. “Remind me to never underestimate you.” Across the water shouting on the ferry reached them as the pirates left on the captured vessel watched their comrades die in a sea of red. Tilikum’s dorsal fin breached the surface of the sea. A black sail.

“Can you help me stand?” Jon asked his lover. His appreciation of her grew as she righted him and then looped an arm around his waist to stabilize him. Now his legs felt like jelly. The art of skin-changing was far from effortless.

Tilikum’s head lifted from the surface. Man, and beast regarded each other. Jon let his approval flow across their newly forged bond. Something similar to satisfaction was Tilikum’s response. At his order, the whale dipped beneath the surface.

“Where did he go?” Ashara questioned. Then she gave a squeak of surprise as their ship began to move.

Jon grinned at her. “I don’t think I’ve heard you squeak like that before.”

“Maybe tonight,” she purred. As they drew closer to the ferry, Jon let the humor slide from his face. Ashara held him tighter so there was no possibility of him stumbling. He needed to appear unbeatable.

Tilikum gave an order and the other whales formed abandon the slaughter to swim formation. Jon gave a shout when they reached the ferry. “Surrender and you’ll face a kinder fate than your shipmates!”

No answer came immediately.

He shouted again. His frustration grew when the pirates remained silent. “Are you afraid?” He taunted. “Raiding is no longer fun when someone can fight back!”

Finally, there came an answer. “We have your demon whore!” Three pirates peeked their heads over the railing. Jon recognized them amongst those he had fought before Shiera had thrown him overboard. The one who spoke had dealt Jon his ax wound and beside him was the pirate whose face had been cut as well as the cracked teeth pirate with dirty blonde hair.

The last man held Shiera roughly by her hair. Her hooded robe had been shredded and she was bound tightly. Most concerning was her skin. The bright sun beamed down on it unprotected. The grey flesh was set to burn, and flakes of dead flesh were carried into the wind.

Jon had to clench his teeth hard not to shout. He felt Ashara flinch. The cracked tooth pirate grinned. “Not so confident, now are you?”

“Listen here-” The pirate began.

Jon interrupted. “No, you will listen. Either surrender now or the only mercy you will find is the one the sea gives you.”

They scoffed. The scarred faced pirate laughed openly. “Is that supposed to be a threat, boy? We have hostages on this ship, including your demon bitch. The way I see it you can’t kill us without killing everyone else on this ship.”

Jon’s jaw tightened. His eyes narrowed. “You are the one who is mistaken. The term hostage only applies if I care about the people aboard that ship. I will kill every single soul aboard and then walk over your cold dead corpses to claim her. My _demon bitch_ can survive a drowning. Can you?”

The three hesitated, sharing a glance with each other. Jon ordered Tilikum to lift his snout above water. His pod followed after Tilikum shared the command. Fifteen whales stared at the pirates. All seemingly under Jon’s command. Their resolve broke.

When he finally set foot on the ferry, the survivors of the crew and the passengers gave him and Ashara a wide berth. Ashara leaned him against the wall and marched over to cut the binds from Shiera. She threw a tarp over the burned vampire and led her to the shadows of the hull.

The remaining of the ferry had accosted the pirates of their weapons and held them at sword point. There were eleven of them remaining in total. Hard men, fierce and foul. They stared at Jon with hate. He did not flinch from their gazes.

“I nearly killed you, boy.” A dark scraggly beard covered his face. His flesh was tanned and hard like leather. Dark blue eyes stared intently at the wound on Jon’s side.

Jon turned so the pirate could have a better look. After a time, he smiled darkly. “Nearly.”

*

It was several hours before Jon allowed himself to return to their chambers. The pirates needed to be secured and he had not trusted the others to do so without supervision. Unfortunately, he had to break his promise guaranteeing the pirates their safety. Shiera needed to feed to heal her injuries and there was no possibility of her not draining whoever became her meal bone dry. Jon granted her a single pirate, the man with the cracked teeth. The rest would face justice at White Harbor.

He had to delegate roles to the surviving sailors and assign passengers to fill vacancies. Normally this would be the captain’s task, but the man had been killed during the boarding, along with the first mate. For some reason, the command had defaulted to him. Rather than shy away from the duty, Jon did his best to rise to the responsibility; Ashara approved.

Jon leaned against the railing of the window. The shutters were thrown open allowing a sea breeze passage into the cabin. The sun had long since dipped below the horizon, replaced instead by the light of countless stars and a pale silver of a moon.

Gentle fingers traced along the lines of his back, sending a shiver down his spine. His torso was bare save for the bandage around covering his wound, held in place by tight bindings around his midsection. “You should be asleep,” Ashara all but purred into his ear.

His lips curled upward. “I wasn’t tired.”

He heard her snort. “Really? You were dead on your feet for most of the day. Where has this sudden energy come from?”

Jon shrugged non-committal. “I can’t sleep would have been a better choice of words.”

Ashara tugged on his arm to turn him to face her. For a moment he was arrested by the sight. With the night upon them, Ashara had shed her thick robe and wore instead a thin sleeping slip that did little to preserve her modesty. Her thighs were mostly bare and the thin straps on her shoulders showcased the entirety of her collar as well as the top of her heavy breasts. Even in the dim of the light, Jon could discern the outline of her nipples through the thin fabric. By far her most captivating feature was her eyes. The violet orbs seemed to glow dimly in the dark as if Ashara had stolen the eyes of some shadowcat.

She tugged on his wrist and lifted his hand to kiss his fingers. Her eyes were inquisitive, but her question remained wordless.

“How many men do you think I killed today?” Jon asked.

Her reply was surprising. “As many men as necessary. Every soul aboard this ship is indebted to you, Jon. Do not allow such an achievement to be forgotten.”

“I could have let them live.”

“And run the risk of a mutiny?” Ashara shook her head. “No, they sealed their fates the moment they attacked us. It was either kill or be killed and they made a mistake of underestimating you.”

He frowned. “Then you do I feel guilty if what I did was right?”  

Ashara cupped his face. Her thumbs smoothed over his lips. “Because you are a good man. This isn’t an easy path we’ve set you on and these won’t be the last lives you take. My brother used to say that the better trained the soldier, the easier killing was for him but it made no matter who you are, the Sword of the Morning or some peasant conscripted to fight by their lord, the faces of the slain stick with you. Guilt is only natural.”

He stared at her. “Is it the same for you and Shiera?”

Her brow furrowed. “What do you mean?”

“Shiera kills without hesitation. When we gave her that pirate, she looked at him as no more than food. Not a person. Not a living, breathing, human being but meat and blood. When we see her next, she will have drained him dry and wear a smile on her face.” His hands rested on her broad hips. “If I did not know her, I might think her the work of some devil. Yet…” He trailed off, lost in thought.

They were quiet for a long moment before Ashara spoke. Her voice was gentle. “It chips away at you, piece by piece. Every year, your grow colder. I’ve killed a dozen men since my turning, and I can hardly remember their faces. Shiera has killed hundreds. She is old compared to you and I but practically an infant compared to others of our race. The further we age, the more monstrous we become.”

Jon was surprised. He knew Shiera could not have been the first of her kind but both women remained evasive of their histories. He knew nothing of Shiera’s turning. Not the circumstances, nor who had given her the gift of immortality. “Have you met any more of your kind?”

“No. Just Shiera. We are a rare breed and the gift is not something passed on easily. Most humans die painful death when we inject poison into their veins. Especially men.” She stared at him strangely as she spoke. Jon’s heart hammered in his chest when she pressed their chests together. Her nose nuzzled his neck. “If there was a guarantee that you would survive the changing, Shiera might have turned you the night we shared you. It’s a tempting thought even now. To have you till the day the sun consumes us all. You have a different fate.” She stepped away.

It took a moment for him to gain his bearings. Ashara sat on the edge of their bed. The hem of her slip rose scandalously high on her thighs, nearly baring her core to his gaze. She spread her legs for him with a sultry smile.

His pants grew tight. Ashara’s pleased smile and beckoning finger had him standing before her in an instant. Her fingers deftly worked at his laces and soon the garment was at his ankles. Freed, his cock bounced against his belly. As her purple-eyed gaze passed over his body, Jon tightened his abdomen. Lady Dayne licked her lips.

A voice nagged at the back of Jon’s mind. “You said I had a different fate? What is it?”

She smiled playfully. “Really? I am about to suck your cock and you ask that now? You have a strange mind, Jon Snow.”

A blush tinged his cheeks. Somehow her teasing was more embarrassing than standing nude before her. Ashara gripped the base of his length. For a moment, Jon thought she would ignore his question, especially when she kissed away the bead of precum leaking from his cock head. With her other hand, Ashara pushed his thighs to create space so she could sink to her knees.

“You saw how they looked at you out there.”

“Afraid?” He questioned.

He groaned as she began to stroke him.

“No. They fear Shiera and me but every single one of them knows that you saved them from death and slavery. That was respect in their eyes and hearts. Respect that only grew you took command of the ship without any prompting. Once you deliver them to safety, they will never forget you. You chose to be their protector. Just as you were born to be.”

He knew where this was leading. Jon had suspected as soon as Dragonbinder was revealed to him.

“King Daemon Targaryen, Lord of the Seven Kingdoms and Protector of the Realm. The man you were born to be. When we leave this ship, Jon Snow, Bastard of Eddard Stark must be left in the past. Help your brother and claim what is your birthright.” The beautiful woman gave him no opportunity for argument. Her tongue teased the head of his cock, the tip teasing his slit before she traced the vein running along the underside of him. Soon she slipped her mouth over him, bobbing swiftly to take half of him in a single plunge. Jon gasped as he felt the sleeve of her throat enveloped his shaft.

Ashara made a pleased sound and while she sucked him, her hands caressed his body, gliding over his muscled abdomen before finding his buttocks. Her nails bit into his skin as she beckoned him forward. Ashara swallowed his shaft, the entirety of his length disappearing down her throat.

“Fuck,” he exclaimed. He ran a hand through her raven locks. Ashara pulled back and repeated the action again, drawing a buck from his hips.

She pulled away. Dazed from the pleasure, Jon tried to apologize. Ashara ignored his words.

“Sit on the bed.” He followed her direction and was delighted when she took her place between his spread thighs.

Elegant fingers curled around his slick cock. Jon shuddered as she stroked him. “Do you like that baby?” Ashara purred. She rubbed his wet cock on her face, spreading the mess.

“Yes,” Jon groaned.

“You like when mama, strokes your cock?” More blood surged into Jon’s cock till he was so hard that he ached. She kissed his stones. “And how about when mama does this?”

“Fuck, Ashara.” Her tongue roved over his sack.

“Not Ashara, mama.” Her mouth hovered over his cock. Beautiful eyes stared at him intently till he muttered the word, “Mama.” Pleased by his descent into further depravity, Ashara sucked him back between her jaws.

His fingers tangled in her soft hair as she pleasured him. Their cabin filled with the sound of her sucks and slurps and Jon alternated between closing his eyes in bliss and watching the enticing sway of Ashara’s bottom. She was on her knees before him, her hands stroking whatever didn’t fit into her mouth with her back arched, bottom in the air.

When she took him deep again, hands cupping his balls, Jon found it impossible to not fill her throat with his seed. Ashara coughed in surprise. She pulled back and swallowed the rest of his spend. Her hand stroked out the stubborn last drops of his cum while she slurped at his cock head to drink the last of what he had to offer.

Jon pulled the beautiful woman from her knees and claimed her lips. She squealed in delight as their tongues dueled. There was the slightest after taste of his spend but it was overwhelmed by the sweetness of her mouth. The desire he had for her burned in his chest and he rolled her beneath him. Ashara’s eagerness was on full display. She squirmed as he kissed down her neck and held his head in place when he reached her breasts. Every time she whispered, “Mama likes that,” his desire surged. He kissed her big breasts and sucked on her nipples, till Ashara shuddered through a climax.

He was stiff as steel by the time Ashara allowed him to descend between her thighs. The tantalizing smell of her flower made him grind his cock into the bedding for some relief. Too impatient to tease her, Jon slurped from her wet pussy. His tongue split the furrow of her cunt, lapping at the slightly sweet juices. By now Jon was well practiced in pleasing the beautiful woman, he suckled on her clit while slipping a finger inside of her. First one and then two.

Ashara cooed as he fucked her. Jon pounded her cunt, stretching her for his cock. She was rough with his hair, tugging painfully on the strands while her thighs squeezed his head. She bucked against his face, spreading her juices across his nose and lips when she came. Her grip on his hair relaxed as did her thighs around his head. Jon rolled her on to her belly and hiked up her hips. Round bottom high in the air, Jon could not help but smack it.

Ashara wiggled her hips in delight as he reddened her cheeks. She pressed her face into the bed, arching further. His cock throbbed but Jon ignored the incessant appendage for another taste of his lover.

“Jon,” Ashara squealed in surprise as he spread her cheeks. A small sigh escaped her lips when he traced her rosebud with his tongue. He gripped her cheeks roughly, holding her open as he feasted. His tongue breached the crinkled flesh and he fucked her ass with his tongue. Briefly, Jon would dip down to drink from her greedy pussy, but he would soon return to tease her bottom.

He eased his grip on her ass to slide a finger into her cunt. Ashara shuddered in delight, fully submitting to his ministrations. Jon added another as he traced her rosebud with his tongue. Her bottom gently rocked against his face, encouraging him even further. Jon slid his slick fingers from her cunt and pressed them against her rosebud.

The crinkled flesh yielded for the slick digits. Ashara buried her face further into her bed. Her bottom rocked back, and his fingers slid inside of her asshole until they were buried to the knuckle. Almost driven mad by impatience, Jon stretched Ashara’s asshole while he played with her clit with his other hand.

_I need her._ He rose from his belly and tapped his cock against her nether lips. Ashara rolled her hips and he heard he muffled gasp when his cock head slipped inside. Jon took a firm grip of her bottom with one hand, replacing his fingers buried in her bottom with his thumb. Impatience made him aggressive and he slid his cock into her with a single stroke. Her bottom clapped against his hips.

Jon fucked the beautiful Dornish woman roughly. He swatted her bottom with an open hand while he teased her asshole with his thumb. Ashara lifted her face from the bedding, crying out as he took her.

“Fuck mama, baby.”

He gritted his teeth as he fucked her. Burying his cock to the hilt and then pulling his hips back to drive into her. Her succulent bottom made a delicious jiggle with each impact of their hips.

Even with the cool sea breeze, their sex was hot and sweaty. Drops of sweat slid down Ashara’s spine and Jon felt moisture gathered at the top of his shoulders to roll down his back. The urge to fill the beauty with his seed was maddening and he nearly did when she clenched around him in climax.

With considerable effort, Jon dragged his wet cock from her body. Ashara cooed when he pressed his length against her rosebud. Her spine arched, bottom flexing to grant him access. His fat tip breached her tight hole and the considerable slickness of his shaft allowed him to slide in deep with ease.

Ashara rocked back while he eased out of her. Her rear passage was incredibly tight but greedy. Even a gentle press of hips seemed to sink him deep inside of her. Eventually, his hips and her bottom met again. He felt the tips of her fingers tease his balls as she played with her clit.

She looked over her shoulder at him, eyes blown wide with pleasure. “Ruin me.” Her elongated fangs teased her lips and the lust in her eyes seemed almost dangerous. Jon rose to the challenge; he gripped her hips roughly as he took her. On a normal woman, his grip would have left bruises but Ashara was far from normal.

She gave as good as she got. Her ass rocked back, meeting his hips with a clap. The heat around his cock was intense and his balls boiled as they smacked against her cunt.

“Fill me, baby! Fill mama!” Ashara cried out as she came on her fingers. Her asshole clenched around as cock. So hard it was almost painful. He came with a rush and a cry filling her bottom with his hot seed. Pain erupted along his side and Jon fell to the bed, exhausted. Ashara turned to curl against him but her satisfied smile morphed into worry as she saw the blood staining his bandage.

“It’s fine,” Jon tried to assure her but Ashara batted his hands away. She cut away at his bandages with surprisingly sharp nails to gaze at his wound unimpeded. Dark blood spilled from the cut along his side accompanied by a slightly sour smell.

Her nose wrinkled. “It’s infected. Why didn’t you tell me?”

Jon shrugged. “How was I supposed to know? I’ve never taken an ax to the side before.”

She frowned. “Humans have too a great a tendency to die from infection for me to leave you like this.” To his surprise, rather than rising to gather new bandages Ashara sliced her wrist with her nail. Jon stared at her quizzically. She ignored his silent question and forced her bleeding wrist to his lips. “Drink.” Her word came with a command. He nearly refused her on principle but lacked the energy to argue.

Ashara watched him closely as he tentatively drank from her lips. His brow raised in surprise at the taste. Rather than the bitter metallic taste that he had suspected, Ashara’s blood was far more pleasant. His thirst grew the more he drank, and he tugged Ashara closer by her arm. She made no protest as he drank. Her fingers caressed the back of his head. A warmth filled his body, followed by numbness. When she finally pulled her wrist away from his lips, Jon felt as if he was floating.

“Sleep,” she whispered from a thousand miles away.

_He dreamed of blood and fire. A woman wreathed in red with the power of the sun behind her. Beside her was a tall blue-eyed lord. In his fist, a sword of bright steel cast an impenetrable shadow. Behind him, the shadows took the shape of soldiers. Sulfur filled his nose. Dracarys! He screamed. The sky cracked with the sound of thunder and a river of fire engulfed the heavens._

 

****

 

Ashara Dayne:

 

 

Shiera Seastar:

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Next chapter is White Harbor. 
> 
> Comments and kudos much appreciated.


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